


Happier

by stammed_cleams



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Amnesty, Christmas, Christmas Romance, Christmas fic, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, agent stern and barclay fall in love, mama does not approve so much, stern is a monsterfucker change my mind, tw:gore, tw:mentions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-01-04 16:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21200417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stammed_cleams/pseuds/stammed_cleams
Summary: Recently Barclay and Agent Stern have fallen into a relationship that is close to - bordering on - flirting with friends. But when Stern is attacked by an abomination and there is no one to save him but Barclay, they begin to grow into more than that, which means nothing but trouble for the rest of the lodge. Barclay is forced to choose between budding love and the safety of his only home on Earth. Stern is forced to choose between the job, and the little town that's starting to come off as paradise.





	1. The Thing In The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> “Well,” he said, “I’ve got a lot of work today. Thinking about checking out the forest tonight, do you know any good trails?”  
“Tonight?” Barclay asked, and the smile fell swiftly from his face. Yesterday was the day another abomination was scheduled, and Mama, Duck, Aubrey and Ned still hadn’t seen head nor tail of it. Chances were there was something still in there. Of course, his worry transferred to Stern before he could even register forming it in his face.  
“Is there something wrong with that?” he asked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern and Barclay's relationship is strained when Stern insists on going into the woods at night, where he runs into trouble Barclay was certain he would run into.

Recently, Barclay and Agent Stern had become something close to - bordering on - flirting with friends. They could never really be friends, at least not on Barclay’s end - every time the man so much as said his name he jumped, and every word he said to him was monitored, contained. But there was room for discomfort on Stern’s end, too. After all, he was on the job - he wasn’t here to buddy up with the cook from some middle-of-nowhere hotel. So they were sort of friends… but not  _ exactly. _

That morning, in the glowing golden light of Amnesty Lodge, Stern created the only noise that wasn’t the distant sound of birds, bubbling coffee, and sizzling eggs that Barclay was making for himself. It was the shuffle of a folder being thrown onto the table, and a swear whispered with all the intensity of a knife piercing through fabric. The man had come into the Lodge perfectly composed, as the FBI is expected to be, brown hair coiffed, figure upright. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that this was a facade for him, perhaps more so than it was for other agents. Now his hair was coming loose and he pulled off his sunglasses in one fluid motion, harshly rubbing his hazel eyes. Barclay saw through the window to the kitchen this display, and, finishing his eggs slid them onto a plate. They were close enough to being friends that he could ask him what was the matter - Stern had done so for him several times, and he had returned the favor before. But he did so cautiously - still somewhat… well, stern.

“Something wrong over there?” Barclay asked, absentmindedly seasoning his eggs. Agent Stern could answer loudly and openly - no one was in the lobby this early.

“Oh, no, I just…” Stern answered, and then pursed his lips. “It just seems like the well’s running a bit dry for me lately, that’s all. Ever since Edmund Chicaine’s video I haven’t gotten my hand on another piece of evidence.”

Barclay swallowed, his uncomfortable position made all the more clear. “What exactly were you expecting to find?” he asked him. 

Stern looked different from how Barclay ever saw him, in that light. His sunglasses, which he was rarely seen without except this early in the morning, were still in his hand, revealing all the unbridled expression in his hazel eyes. Compared to how he normally looked it almost gave him a clownish nature. He stared at the ground with his eyebrows raised, and for the first time he looked older than he was instead of younger, and… unenthusiastic. “I don’t know,” he finally confessed, and then buried his face in his hands again.

_ Then what are you still doing here,  _ Barclay wanted to say, and he wanted to make his tone sharp, wanted to make it hurt. But he didn’t - being mean never had been his strong suit. “Tell you what,” he said, “Have you had breakfast yet?”   


“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“I’ve already got the pan hot and I’ve already made the bacon, it’s no trouble at all,” Barclay assured him. Agent Stern looked up towards the window to the kitchen and nodded.

“Thanks,” he said, and rolled his shoulders forward, wincing as though they ached. Barclay cracked another egg over the pan. 

“How do you like ‘em?” he asked.

“Scrambled would be great,” he admitted.

“Comin’ up.” Within what seemed like seconds he was rolling them out of the pan and onto another plate which he pulled out of the cabinet and scooped some bacon onto. Making breakfast for a human government agent, he thought to himself sardonically. Of all the places he thought he could be in ten years…

A plate in each hand he came out of the kitchen, hair still somewhat disheveled from the morning, and placed one in front of Stern, struggling just for a moment to make room between all the papers and files. They were covered in pictures of… well, him, or at least something like him - an unsettling sight to say the least. But he kept the expression on his face neutral, and kept his eyes on Stern instead.

“Thank you - thank you,” Stern repeated. He seemed for a moment to try to come up with something witty, and upon failing, he simply started eating. He creased his eyebrows. “That’s really good,” he told him.

“Thanks,” Barclay said, with some manner of pride in his voice - food was one of the few things he really did understand about humans. He adjusted his posture - now was his chance. Some little words of influence, some subliminal messages to get him to go  _ away.  _ Then maybe he could sleep at night again, and take off his goddamn bracelet every once in a while. “If I can ask…” he began, “If the well’s run dry, what are you doing staying in Kepler so long. I’m sure the FBI has, you know, helicopters and secret bases, and things like that.”

Stern, leaning back in his chair, openly laughed at that. He then attempted to regain some composure, adjusting his lapels. “Yeah, our division is a little what you’d call ‘underfunded’,” he confessed, “They hardly like me staying out here at all, and I’m on my own money.”

“You are?” Barclay asked, surprised. With a raise of his eyebrows, Agent Stern nodded.

“Oh yeah,” he said, “That’s why I would love to find something because I can’t go back empty handed but I can’t go… bankrupt either.” Irritably he flipped a folder closed, as if it was the paper which had wronged him.

“I’m sure they’d be alright if you don’t find anything, I mean… bigfoot, he’s… very elusive. I hear,” Barclay stumbled, and Agent Stern didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness of what he’d said. He didn’t answer for a moment, staring down at the table.  Bit by bit he started collecting all his papers and putting them back in the folder, and while he was at it, he put his sunglasses on, too. 

“Well,” he said coolly, “We’ll see about that.” And he didn’t seem to be all that interested in talking about it further. He then took in a sharp breath, and let it out. “It’s nice, though,” he said, “Of all the middle of nowhere West Virginia towns to get stuck in…”

Barclay couldn’t argue with that one, no matter how he tried to think of a way he could. So he simply said, the honesty clear in his voice, “This is a good town.”  
Agent Stern looked at him as if he were startled, and Barclay realized he had probably been expecting a more offhanded comment. Upon seeing that Barclay was looking back at him, Stern looked down again. 

“What about you?” he asked, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“What about me… what?”   


“Well what… lead you to this little town, this little inn and everything?”   


Barclay swallowed, smiling at the ground as his chest rose uncomfortably. “Are you investigating me, Agent Stern?” he half-joked.

Agent Stern didn’t take this as lightly as Barclay had expected, seeming quickly defensive of his inquiry. He raised both his hands, “No, I’m not, I promise, I’m not,” he insisted. 

Barclay gritted his teeth. “You’re getting bacon grease on your formal investigation,” he said.

“Oh - shit,” Agent Stern answered, effectively distracted. Luckily, he didn’t have to lie. As he absentmindedly lifted his fork to his mouth the oil was dripping off and leaving massive splotches all over his folder, ones big enough to undoubtedly seep through to everything else. Agent Stern attempted to wipe them off, as if it would do anything, and Barclay couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Agent Stern caught a glance of him, and smiled back - a toothy, crooked, midwestern looking smile. “Oh, yeah, laugh it up,” he chided. “Not like this is important FBI work or anything.”

“Mm,” Barclay agreed, incapable of mustering a fake laugh. Maybe it’ll be irreparable, he hoped stupidly. Maybe his life would be saved due to bacon grease. That, of course, was foolish - at least, not without a whole lot more bacon. 

Agent Stern, after sorting himself out, let out a sharp breath. He moved his folder to the side, and positioned his breakfast right in front of him. Barclay eyed the folder. “Can I see that?” he asked. 

Stern didn’t answer instantly, a bite of scrambled egg in his mouth. Even behind his sunglasses, it was clear that he was fighting something in his head, his mouth scrunching up with conflict. “I mean, it is… classified, so I can’t really let you do that.”  
“You just told me the well had run dry,” he argued. 

“Alright, fine, I’ll just show you one, though,” Agent Stern said, and then reached over the table more like an excited middle schooler than a trained FBI agent. He opened it and shuffled for a moment through papers, before sliding a black and white image across the table interrogation style. Barclay laughed - not out of amusement or even out of self defense, but out of solid nervousness, bubbling up out of his chest outside of his control. It was a picture of him, alright - it may as well have been a mirror. Stern’s smile fell.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s just… that doesn’t look fake to you?” Barclay went on, trying to save himself. He forced a smile to match the laugh, despite the fact that his true disposition was deeply disturbed at what he was seeing. Stern scowled, looking more hurt than one would have expected.

“It isn’t fake,” he said, as if it were fact, and snatched the picture back, stuffing it away in the folder. “It’s from Chicane’s video, which has been hyper analyzed for seams of a costume, computer editing, and any sound effect that’s basically ever been recorded. Nothing matches up - it’s real.”

Barclay grimaced - really, he should have gone on discouraging him. But again, there was that being mean thing. “If you say so,” he said kindly.

“Yeah, well, I do say so,” Stern muttered bitterly to himself and put the folder on the table. He then shook his head, and straightened his back, folding a lock of hair over his ear. “I’m sorry, I’m being very unprofessional, I shouldn’t even have showed you that…”

“Hey, I mean, we all have our days, right?” Barclay asked relatably. 

“Yeah…” Agent Stern agreed with a tired smile, nodding slowly. And then, with nothing else to say, he repeated it in a whisper. “Yeah…” he said again. He then hit his thighs with his hands and went on, “Well. Thank you for breakfast,” he said.

“Oh, it’s… no problem,” Barclay assured him, waving his hand and shaking his head. Swiftly he took his empty plate and stacked it on top of his own, putting both forks atop them both. Agent Stern thanked him again softly. 

“Well,” he said, “I’ve got a lot of work today. Thinking about checking out the forest tonight, do you know any good trails?”  
“Tonight?” Barclay asked, and the smile fell swiftly from his face. Yesterday was the day another abomination was scheduled, and Mama, Duck, Aubrey and Ned still hadn’t seen head nor tail of it. Chances were there was something still in there. Of course, his worry transferred to Stern before he could even register forming it in his face.

“Is there something wrong with that?” he asked.

Barclay shook his head, his lips pursing. “Nope!” he lied, “Just supposed to be cold tonight, that’s all.”  
“I think I can handle a little cold,” Stern said, standing up from his seat and adjusting his blazer. Barclay followed suit. 

“Yeah,” he laughed uncomfortably. He didn’t want Stern there, that was for sure - but he didn’t want him dead. He seemed to be a reasonable enough man in his own life, he just stood for danger when it came to Barclay. If the abomination really was still in that forest, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He had to do  _ something.  _ “Just… keep in mind. There’s a lot of… bears out there.”   


Stern took his turn to laugh at something, raising his eyebrows over his sunglasses. “Bears?” he asked.

“Just… trust me on this one. You have a gun, don’t you?”  
“Yeah.”

Barclay gestured to himself. “Lifelong West Virginian,” he told him, “Bring it.”

Stern scoffed, but part of him seemed to take his advice. “If you say so,” he said. Barclay nodded, forcing a smile. 

“Well,” Stern went on, “Have a good one, Barclay.”

“You too, Agent Stern.” 

Agent Stern looked up at him, startled by that for a moment. Words made their way to his tongue and stopped short, indecision pulsing clear through his eyes as they turned to the ground. Deciding not to correct him he simply nodded, and walked back to his room. Barclay stood in the wide open space, letting out a breath he felt he had been holding since the beginning of the interaction. 

Barclay kept an eye open for Stern that day, glancing time and time again at the hallway to his room, and to the doors outside. Sure enough, just before sunset he locked his door behind him, a flashlight in his hand and a gun strapped almost invisibly to his side under his jacket. At least he was armed, Barclay thought. He’d be fine - after all, what were the chances of an abomination attacking the only human out in the forest, alone, at night, with no knowledge of Kepler?

Barclay grimaced to himself, knowing the answer to that full well. Before he even made the decision of what he was going to, he felt as though the decision was made. In a way, he knew himself well enough that there was never much of a decision at all, and that infuriated him. But there was no point fighting it now - he would follow a ways behind Stern, keep an eye out for him and make sure he didn’t die. Cursing himself for being such a damned good person, he threw on a coat and waited for him to get a long enough headstart.

Stern began to know that he had gone out too late when the sun set within minutes of his leaving - but he wasn’t afraid of the dark. At least, he told himself that. But there was a difference between the dark in your room at night with walls around you and the dark in the Monongahela forests. The trees grew taller, came alive, eyes poked out of the bushes and the ground made noises you couldn’t explain. Within just a little ways of Amnesty Lodge Stern’s gun was drawn, his flashlight pointed, and his neck tingling. Barclay lost sight of him quickly - after all, if he was close enough to be seen then Stern would see him back. How exactly he would know, then, what danger looked like he didn’t know - he could only hope that his instincts hadn’t lost their touch. 

A little ways away from Amnesty Lodge, the forest around Stern made a noise, as forests often did. But Agent Stern knew about forests, and this noise was louder, heavier, deeper - it was an animal, close to him, and bold enough not to run away. Instantly, his hand holding the gun crossed over his hand holding the flashlight and he pointed them both at the source of the sound, in typical FBI fashion. And in front of him was… something. It was hunched over, with clear signs of fur poking out on its silhouette, but that was all he could see of it. It was several yards away, and very big, bigger than a bear really. Bigger than anything he could think of. He swallowed, reminding himself to thank the helpful cook for the advice. Slowly, he began to step backwards. Forests weren’t how they were in the movies - you didn’t just step on one twig and the monster caught sight of you, every move you made was lumbering, loud, the mark of a creature that didn’t belong. The animal knew where he stood by where he breathed, before he even turned back. And then, it stood up. Stern hadn’t even assumed that it was kneeling.

The being, previously a little over seven feet in height, straightened up to what must have been twelve feet. It exposed long legs that looked like they belonged to a goat more than a bear, and clawed arms that hung too low to its sides. Then, it opened its eyes. There were dozens of them - glowing yellow all over its body. It swelled with malice, and Stern let out a shaky breath, stumbling back a bit faster. 

“Alright, now you… just stay there,” he said to it, “Can you understand what I’m saying? Do you know English, do you speak?” Quickly he was comfortable talking to it, more so than most. After all, he imagined the scenario a lot. The animal, however, did not react like he wanted it to - it didn’t react at all. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he promised.

As he finished that sentence, the animal bounded. Left with nothing else to do Stern emptied the clip of his gun, the gunshots ringing out through the forest, echoing off the trees. The creature didn’t seem to notice. His gun emptied Stern threw it aside and fell backwards, attempting to slide backwards as quickly as he could through the leaves and twigs. Before he knew it the moonlight was shining off a set of razor sharp white teeth and with a searing pain they were sinking deep into the flesh of his leg. He screamed loud enough that all of Keplar could hear.

What exactly happened next was a bit of a blur. He knew that the creature had been knocked to the side and attacked, and that someone,  _ something  _ had done it. At this point his head was spinning and the pain and blood loss combined were threatening to knock him out. But he kept his eyes open, and saw that the creature on top of the one that attacked him was… bigfoot. 

His hands shaking almost too violently to find his pocket, he managed to pull out his phone and start recording, his breath louder in the microphone than anything he was actually filming. His arms ached just to hold the phone upwards as the two of them brawled, the great ape attempting to pin down the larger creature. Efficiently he dodged its slashes and bites, seeming almost well trained, and kicked it as hard as it could in one of its orange eyes. It cried out, more in anger than in pain, it seemed, and lumbered back off between the trees. This left the bigfoot standing alone, its chest rising. It stood truly massive, perhaps eight feet tall, matted fur falling all around it. It looked at Agent Stern, right at him… and at that point his hands, holding the phone began to dip and the world began to go blurry. His head hit the tree behind him with a thud, as he looked down at his leg, absolutely covered in blood. The next time he looked up, the other creature had gone as well. He shivered violently with cold, the shakes running straight through to his core, and the pain making him feel sick. He was going to die, he knew it - the remaining panic he held was enough to keep him awake, to keep his heart racing whatever blood was left around his body. He had to get back. He couldn’t die now. His hand shaking he slid his phone, now bloody, back into his pocket. Using whatever strength he could, he pulled his good leg under him, and tried to slide up against the tree behind him. Remaining still was hard, but moving was agonizing. He cried out into the woods again, covered in sweat.

Before he could recognize who had come to him a pair of large hands had fallen on his shoulders, and he cried out in fear, panting rapidly. It was too dark to wear his sunglasses out, so he could see well enough in the dark. But his vision was blurring, failing. It took a muffled voice to tell him who it was.

“Stern, it’s me, it’s Barclay, it’s okay, it’s me, it’s me,” he said rapidly. 

“Barclay…” Stern whispered, as if trying to remember. When he spoke, his jaw shook, his body sliding slowly back down the tree as his effort failed. “S-somethin’ got me, I don’ think I can… Can make it back.”

“Nonsense, you’re just fine,” Barclay promised him. Effortlessly he scooped him up into his arms, and Stern groaned loudly. As he rushed through the dark forest back to Amnesty Lodge by memory, he prompted his memory, keeping him talking. “What was it that got you, a bear?” he asked, trying to make his tone almost casual.

“Something else, it…” Stern answered, “Huge, hundred eyes.”   


“Oh yeah? How’d you escape it?” Stern didn’t answer at first, his head nodding off. “Stern!” 

His head snapped back. “T’was… t’was bigfoot, I… I saw’im… her, them… you can… cannever assume…”   


“That’s right, you can never assume,” Barclay agreed, “What did they look like Stern, tell me about them?” Amnesty Lodge came into sight, and Barclay bolted for the door to the basement, not thinking. 

“Looked at me… it… looked at me,” Stern mumbled.

“Okay, that’s great, tell me more,” Barclay said. Stern’s words degraded into mumbles as Barclay broke into the basement, the warm air and the soft light breaking onto his human face. He hurried him into the infirmary, laying him down on the table. He shook violently there, looking around, terrified. He had stopped talking now, far too preoccupied. Constantly he tried to accommodate for hyperventilation and constantly he failed, creating a strange and unpredictable rhythm of breath that was a mix of panic breaking through and memories of training for situations something like this. Without any warning, Barlay attempted to stop the bleeding, finding a cloth and putting pressure. Agent Stern cried out, doubling over.

“Sorry!” Barclay hissed, but after a few seconds he was, after all, successful. The bleeding finally slowed to a stop and in a swift movement he grabbed a bandage from one of the shelves behind him and started bandaging it up. Stern made one last uncomfortable noise, gripping the sides of the table he was.

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be fine,” Barlcay insisted, and it was more an assurance to himself than it was to Agent Stern. It was only just now sinking in that he had just seen him and recorded him in his true form,  _ and  _ that he was now in the secret basement he was  _ absolutely not allowed into.  _ Mama wouldn’t be happy about this, Barlcay thought as he finished wrapping it - but if he thought about that now, he’d screw something up, and one mistake from here meant the man had little chance of survival. 

When he was done, he looked to Agent Stern. He could give him this - while he may have come off as the joke of the FBI, a sort of nerdy version of a real government agent, he certainly had the toughness of his role. There he was, still awake, eyes still open, focusing on the rate of his breathing and slowly bringing it back to something steady. His face was pale and covered in sweat and his whole body was still shaking - but the fact that he hadn’t passed out from the fear alone, to say nothing to the pain, was an impressive feat. “How we doing?” he asked, perhaps stupidly. “You okay, you holding it together?”  
Stern nodded intently, his breathing getting more steady by the second, his knuckles still white where he held the table. 

“Alright, I’m… gonna see if I can find a painkiller, I’m still here,” Barclay told him, and then went into the materials Duck had built up here. Stern nodded again, unwilling to argue. This was a disaster, Barclay thought as he hunted through pill bottles. The more he thought about it, the worse it was. He was only just now recalling that human practice when one gets mortally wounded is to call an ambulance and bring them to a hospital - out of his own fear of being discovered he had completely forgotten hospitals existed. And what kind of Lodge had a secret medical room in the basement? How was he going to get Stern out here without him seeing Thacker, and everything else. He swore incessantly in his head as he found something he remembered to help with pain and took a pill out of it. He put it firmly into Stern’s hand. “Take this,” he instructed. Stern didn’t question him, taking it quickly. Barclay hoped it wouldn’t hurt him - human medicine was extremely complicated. 

“Alright…” Barclay said to himself. Really, what would be best would be to move him now, before he was really conscious enough to remember much of what was around him - but if he moved him now, he would start bleeding again, and he couldn’t lose anymore blood. Really he needed stitches, but he didn’t know anything about those. The wound he had was deep and ugly, something he didn’t have any idea how to deal with. He had managed to stitch up long cuts or scrapes before, but this was a bite from something with massive fangs. Two massive cones of flesh had been damaged and taken out - where did he even go from there? He couldn’t let him bleed anymore, that was for sure. Unsure of what else to do he took his hand, and Stern looked up at him, pain still clear in his face. “It’s over now, okay? You’re doing fine, you did great,” he encouraged. 

Stern swallowed, and nodded again, seeming either unable or unwilling to talk.

“I bet that hurts something fierce, doesn’t it?” Barclay asked. Stern shut his eyes tight and nodded again. In a bout of sympathy Barclay sighed and ran a hand along his hair, soaking wet. This gentle touch seemed to push the regularity of Stern’s breathing over the edge, and he sank finally into a slow, normal rhythm, his chest consistently rising and falling and some, if not nearly all, of the tension leaving his body. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, the shaking slowly leaving him. Swallowing, he prepared himself to speak, and when he did his voice was scratchy and pained.

“My phone,” he said, “In my pocket.”

Barclay’s chest froze. He hoped at least he’d forget about it for a minute or two, at least while he was in pain. But nevertheless, he withdrew his phone from his pocket. It was scratched, and there were lines of dried blood across the screen, but unfortunately, altogether fine.

Stern went on. “Code is three-four-two-one.”   


Barclay gave him a look, and then unlocked it. 

“Should… be a video… proof… of what got me…” he said, through quiet groans, “Is it there?”   


Barclay opened up his pictures. It was there - it was several minutes long, and on the front picture of it was him, wrestling the abomination. You have to be mean sometimes, Barclay he told himself, or you won’t be safe. With a few swift movements, he deleted it, and then deleted it from the garbage as well, making it look like he was looking for it. “I’m sorry,” he said, “No, there’s… no video. You must have been too out of it, forgot to press record.”   


It hurt to see the excitement drain so efficiently from Stern’s eyes. He didn’t swear, but he let out a sharp, defeated breath that had the tone of one. “Damn…” he whispered to himself. 

“Hey, you’re walking proof,” Barclay reminded him, “You look like you’ve been bitten by a T-Rex, nobody can just ignore that.” Why he was encouraging him, despite the fact that it was a bad idea, he didn’t know. He just looked so upset about it. Shortly after, his eyes lit up.

“You’re right…” he said, “I need a… saliva sample.” He began to make the preliminary movements towards sitting up, before Barclay pushed him back down.

“No, you are not unwrapping that thing,” Barclay insisted, “Do that and you’ll bleed out, and I will not have that on my conscience.”   


These words are what prompted Stern’s memory, his eyebrows creasing as he attempted to put something together. Whatever it was, it made Barclay’s heart race. “Hold on…” Stern said, “You… found me,” he said, “You… went out… for me, you… saved me,” he said.

That part was technically true - and luckily, he didn’t seem to know anything more than that. He shrugged bashfully.

“You said I’m… walking proof,” Stern went on, “You saw it.”   


_Fuck, _Barclay swore to himself. “I… never said that,” he told him, “But I saw your leg, and, well… I don’t have any idea _what _could’ve done it.” Stern didn’t answer that, and Barclay knew that, however dangerous it was, he’d never have a better chance. “I have to move you,” he said. Stern groaned out an objection. “You’re gonna be fine, it’s not far. We’re gonna get you someplace more comfortable than this, okay? Some place you can rest.”  
Stern, with a dreading wince, nodded. He hissed as Barclay found a place for his arms underneath him, picking him up bridal style. He groaned at the change in gravity, and Barclay winced. He walked as quickly as he could through the basement, hoping he would see as little as possible down here in the dim light. He then hurried up the stairs and into the main part of Amnesty Lodge, and then, unsure of where else to go, to his own bedroom. He had a larger room, mainly because he spent so long here, and a larger bed due to his natural size. Plenty of room to set Stern down on. He objected lightly to being set down. Now a bit more lucid, he evaluated his surroundings. 

“You’re very strong,” he said, growing more comfortable talking by the second. “You carried me back?”  
Barclay shrugged. “You’re not that heavy,” he justified. 

“Modest, too,” Stern answered, “You saved my life.”   


Barclay had nothing to offer that but yet another shrug. “Oh, well, it’s not like I fought whatever it was off or anything,” he said ironically, “I just carried you home.”  
Stern paused for a moment, evaluating his face. “Still,” he said. Barclay found that Stern’s hazel eyes were fixed on him a bit more intensely than he cared for, and he forced a smile.

“I’ve got someone I need to talk to,” he said, “I won’t be far off. Get some rest.”   


Stern looked for a moment like he wanted to object, but he resisted it - he was a government agent, after all, he should be able to be alone like this. Barclay then turned and stepped out of the room, leaving him there, only for a moment.


	2. Not His Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay discusses the events of yesterday with Mama and Jake. Stern's feelings toward Barclay begin to settle in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter this time! sorry it took so long for it. also BIG shoutout to the commenter who told me i had the WRONG VIRGINIA. curse this country with all its bonus states. 'west virginia'. 'north carolina'. 'south dakota'. outrageous. either way I think i say the state one other time and i fixed it so thanks.

Barclay made a bold effort not to bolt to Mama’s room. He had hid things from her before, he wasn’t about to do it again. And after all, he needed her help. Thoughtlessly, he barged into her room and woke her, leaving her to sit up, irritable in bed. Quickly, however, she was receptive to an explanation. 

She was quiet for much of it, which was almost worse. Barclay waited for her to shout at him - he knew that it was coming. She only talked when he mentioned the last bit, taking him downstairs.

“You what?” she asked. Barclay winced.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking! He was bleeding out!” he attempted to justify. “He’s not there anymore, I brought him to my room, but he was pretty lucid when I moved him. I don’t know what he saw or what he remembers. Mama, I… I’ve put everyone at risk, I am…  _ so  _ so sorry…”

Mama sighed, seeming less angry than she was concerned. “You saved a man’s like, Barclay, and you did the best you could,” she swiftly forgave, “Nevertheless, this is a little bit of a pickle we’ve found ourselves in, isn’t it?”   


“Yeah,” Barclay answered, “Yeah, you could say that.”   


“Did he see you transform?”   


“I don’t… think so.”   


“Barclay-” Mama warned. Barclay shut his eyes and shook his head.

“No, no, he didn’t see me,” he promised her, and hoped that it was true. 

“Okay,” Mama said in a calming tone. “This could’ve been worse… we’re gonna deal with it. It certainly wouldn’t be preferable to have an FBI agent die here of mysterious causes, would it? Then we’d have all manner of trouble on our backyard.”   


“Yeah, I… I guess that would be worse,” Barclay said, and sounded tired. 

Mama nodded sincerely, crossing her arms. “Alright, well, you go keep an eye on Stern, make sure that doesn’t happen. We’ll cross the bridges as he come to them, see what he remembers and what he doesn’t. Alright?”   


Barclay nodded, both in understanding and in thanks. He then left Mama’s room, and went back to his own. There, he went back to Stern, who looked calmer, and less shaky than before. He was still pale as a ghost, of course, and covered in sweat. He looked over to Barclay as he answered. 

“Those drugs kicking in yet?” Barclay asked as he came through the door.

“Somewhat,” Stern answered, “Still hurts like a bitch.”

“Well, it’s gonna,” Barclay admitted harshly. He took a chair from his dining room area and pulled it up beside the bed, sitting down with a heavy sigh. 

Stern shook his head. “I can’t believe that video is gone,” he mourned, “A second of that and I… I would have everything I’d ever wanted. That monster, I… nobody could deny that it was fake, not after both the video and the injury on my leg. But now… I’m sure they’ll say it’s a dog or something stupid like that.”

Barclay grimaced with guilt. It was for the best, he reminded himself. “Don’t worry about that now,” he encouraged him, “You’re alive. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Thanks to you,” he said again, “First you make me breakfast, next thing I know I’m waking up with you taking care of me. What brought you out to the forest, anyway?”  
Barclay half-smiled. “The bears,” he said. Stern laughed, a crackling, aching laugh. 

“Come on,” he said. 

“You think I can’t recognize a city boy? ‘Oh, I’ll just go for a walk in the forest at night’. I’m not stupid, Agent Stern.”   


This time, he let himself speak, smiling at Barclay in the way that children smile at butterflies and bubbles. “Joe,” he said.

“What?”   


“Joseph Stern, it’s… my name,” he clarified, “My friends all call me Joe.”

The smile on Barclay’s face flickered with that word, ‘friends’. Last time he checked, they were something close to - bordering on - flirting with friends. Could he really push that edge with him, under all these circumstances. Was it safe? Was it ever really safe? 

He was just delirious now, he told himself. It wouldn’t matter when he felt better. So, he parroted in a whisper, “Joe it is, then.” 

Barclay didn’t recognize the look Stern gave him then, though he gave it to him helplessly, his ability to hide his feelings having failed with the painkillers and the chaos of the night. Not that Barclay should be blamed for it - he had never seen such a look on a human, not towards him, anyway, and it was different in Silvaine. He assumed that was the only place it could be found. That look, of course, was the look of a man who wanted him to stroke his hair again, someone who was caught up in something much bigger and much harder to resist than a nonsense job in a nowhere town. Barclay, clueless and tired, saw only suspicion. It was, to him, the only expression humans ever wore. So quickly he stood. 

“You’re stable now, I think. You need to get some rest,” Barclay told him. With a grunt, he propped himself up on his elbows.

“I can do that in my room, if you want,” he offered uncomfortably.    


Barclay shook his head. “That would mean moving you again, and I don’t know if you’re up for that.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just do it,” Stern told him, and tried again to push himself towards sitting up.

“Ah-ah!” Barclay disciplined, and pushed him with a bit more force than he intended back into the bed, making him wince as the mattress bounced underneath him. “If you start bleeding I’m not saving you again, FBI man!” he said, despite the fact that it was a blatant lie. “Besides, someone ought to keep an eye on you.”   


“I mean, I do sort of feel like I should be in a hospital, to be honest,” Stern confessed, “Now that I think about it, couldn’t you have just… called 911 and taken it from there?”

Barclay clenched his teeth. Come on, you’re clever, think of something, he urged himself. “You know how people are,” he eventually landed on, “If they took you in they would have wanted to know what made that mark, and doctors are smart, they’d know it was a bite. They’d want to hold you, test you. I figured you wouldn’t be about all that nonsense, as a connoisseur of all things odd yourself.”

Stern seemed cynical, but that compliment right at the end seemed to be enough to win him over. “Yeah, that’s… that’s good thinking,” he agreed, “But… you’ll really just let me stay here?”   


“Better than them sending more FBI once you’re dead,” Barclay said harshly. Stern looked just a little too pale and a little too frightened to find that truly funny, but he let out a nervous laugh anyway. 

“I guess so,” he agreed, “Well, I mean, Hell, thank you for everything,” he said. 

Barclay didn’t spare him any extra kindness, just this once. “Get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, and walked back out of the room. 

Barclay wasn’t certain why he decided he ought to leave - perhaps to avoid the inherent awkwardness of watching someone fall asleep. Perhaps because he needed just a single taste of the night air to cope with everything around him. He stepped out into the lobby and saw Jake Coolice on his phone, bouncing his leg. When Barclay came in, he looked up. 

“Jake, what are you doing up?” he asked. 

“I thought I heard someone screaming, in the forest, earlier tonight. I wanted to know if everything was alright, but I… wasn’t sure if I should wake anyone,” he admitted nervously, “And then I just… couldn’t sleep, I guess.”   


Barclay pursed his lips. No point lying now, not really - word would inevitably get out. And maybe it should have - it wasn’t good for Stern to have secrets, not when his secrets were the people in this town. 

“The FBI Agent here was attacked last night. It’s him you heard,” he explained.

Jake took this news solemnly - after all, what he was suggesting was neither good nor bad, inherently. “Is he…?” he asked cautiously.

“No,” Barclay answered, “No, he’s okay, I got him back. But he saw one of the abominations, so we’re gonna have to be extra careful.”   


“He saw one of them, is he gonna report that to the government?” Jake demanded.

Barclay shrugged helplessly. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie to you, Jake, probably.”

“W-well, what are we gonna do, they’ll send more agents here, they’ll take us away-”

“They’re not gonna take us away, Jake,” Barclay said, and raised a steady hand, “He only saw it, he didn’t get any footage of it. Mama already knows what’s going on, she’s gonna take care of it. We’re all gonna be just fine out here. Now, it’s late, get back to bed, Jake,” he said, and buried his face in his hands.

“...Okay,” Jake answered meekly, and scurried back off towards his bedroom. Barclay took this opportunity to continue outside, letting the cold air hit his face along with the age-old smell of the pines. The air here was different than that of Silvane - somehow it felt thicker, heavier, like it was always weighing him down with a blanket of humidity and fatigue. And he missed the way Silvane  _ smelled -  _ totally incomparable to any descriptor Earth had. And yet he remembered it so vividly. He looked out into the sky, watching the moon look down at him. Not his moon. Not his stars. Still so beautiful.


	3. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far from sending him home, Stern's injury has revitalized his passion for finding something mysterious in Keplar, to the chagrin of Barclay. Barclay learns a little more about Agent Stern's intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops! it has been SO long since I updated this but i swear i'll do better in the future. anyway, maybe this chapter's a bit exposition heavy... but i like the one that comes after ;) stick around!

As he had expected, word about Stern got around fast. Reactions of concern were common, but it was, of course, kept under reps. Soon enough Duck and Ned had joined Aubrey, he and Mama to discuss how to take down this latest abomination, and soon returned bloodied with reports of its demise. That was some comfort, at least. Aubrey, at one point, spoke subtly with Barclay about whether or not she should attempt some subtle healing or see if she can go about some misdirection, get his focus off of Barclay and the abominations for a while. Barclay politely declined - after all, when the choice was between less magic and more magic, less magic was probably preferable at this point. It pained him to say so, since healing Agent Stern would be an incredible help from his slow and arduous healing process - but it just wasn’t worth the risk.

“I’m sorry about this, Barclay, I know this must be really stressful for you,” Aubrey sympathized. He forced a smile.

“I’m alright, Aubrey. Thanks for taking that thing down, it’s good to have it out of the woods.”   


“Hey, anytime!”

Barclay had been somewhat surprised, however, to find that he wasn’t as stressed as he thought he’d be. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t extremely stressed for much of the time, it was more that he had expected himself to be a whole lot more stressed. But from time to time he was comfortable talking to Stern, forgetting what an imminent danger he posed. He also came to find that Stern was quite possibly the worst at being on bedrest that he had ever seen. Just a day after it had happened he was insisting on dragging himself painfully through the room, getting things for himself, and within two days he was giving himself stitches and rewrapping the wound himself so that blood would be less of a factor. He struck Barclay as a man who was deeply uncomfortable being tended to - he got right to making his own meals and fending for himself. Which, frankly, wasn’t entirely unwelcome - that was during the times that he  _ wasn’t  _ dripping blood all over the house.

As a matter of fact, if anything, the event had revitalized him. As soon as he could manage to bear it he made a valiant effort to get a DNA sample from inside the wound, and once the nausea from the pain had faded he made sure to get two more, since ‘evaluations are more reliable when there are multiple samples, especially when they’re contaminated’, as he had made a point to explain. He started making sketches of what he had seen, medical sketches, artistic sketches, anatomical sketches. They showed measurements, they were covered in question marks. Some of them were of the abominations, others were of Barclay, and deeply disturbing to see scattered around his own room. Most times Stern attempted to bring it up he made an effort to change the subject. It never worked, but luckily for him, all his questions on the subject ended up rhetorical. He didn’t want Barclay to offer anything, only to listen - which was easy to do without arousing suspicion. 

Ironically enough, as Stern’s fascination with these ‘strange and fascinating’ creatures increased, so did his friendliness with Barclay. Within a week he formally made his way back to his own room, but that didn’t mean Barclay saw all that much less of him. He was always around, always excited to spew his knowledge and his theories - none of which even brushed against the truth. He would always sit on the back legs of his chair, running his hands through his hair and gesturing frantically at pictures, drawings, samples, and sometimes himself, until he got too excited and hurt himself, stopping short with a wince and a rush to his bad leg. And though he was too excited to notice, the entire Amnesty Lodge was holding their breath, watching, listening. When they spoke to each other they spoke cautiously, trying to hold tight to their morals, but really they were all suggesting - implying - brushing against the same idea. That idea was that perhaps it would be better if the abomination had killed Agent Stern - that way maybe they’d finally have a moment of peace. Nobody said that though, and even thinking it aloud, letting it echo in anyone’s mind made them squint their face up from the guilt and the filthiness of the thought.

Barclay, then, began to deal with something he didn’t expect. That he was beginning not only to tolerate Stern - he was starting, ever so slowly, to like him. That crooked smile, the way that he talked. He wanted good things for him. Hell, more than that, there were times some guilty part of his mind wanted to be around him. A dangerous mindset he discouraged at every turn. 

Stern, of course, was having trouble with how he and Barcay interacted as well. He didn’t know all that much about romantic affairs - for much of his childhood he was too guilty to pursue them (at least with the right gender) and once he had come to terms with himself he felt he had missed his window, and he had other things to worry about anyway. Missing out in highschool makes it hard to differentiate really liking someone and having a stupid, sex-driven crush. What he did know were the facts - that the only moment of peace he could remember from that night was when Barclay ran that hand along his hair, or when he whispered his name, impossibly soft. The way that the moonlight hit his face, the way he smelled like pine and fresh laundry when he lifted him effortlessly into his arms. He thought about him a lot - in this middle of nowhere town, a place he never thought he would get anything out of was… him. Someone who left him just… helpless. It was stupid, he knew that much - eventually he would be taken out of there and brought back to his home in DC, and nothing he’d done here would have mattered. It sure was easy to talk to him, though - impossibly so.

The morning was fresh and bright as ever, though bluer than usual, with clouds blocking the golden light that streamed into the Amnesty Lodge. Barclay held a mug of hot coffee between his cold hands, and Stern had a matching one steaming on the table in front of him. Today was the day Barclay asked a dangerous question - one that had haunted him since the moment he came over from Silvane.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked.

“Shoot,” Stern answered.

“If you find something,” he began, “Mothman, bigfoot, whatever… where exactly do you go from there?”   


Stern didn’t miss a beat in responding. “Communication is the first big step,” he said, “Every situation is precarious, we can’t just go in moving to kidnap it, god forbid we scare it and it attacks us. I hate to think that’s what happened the other night, but luckily me shooting at it didn’t seem to hurt the… whatever that was. We record every interaction that we can and do both a physical and behavioral analysis, and then see how we can interact with it in a way that’s safe for both us and it,” he explained quickly.

“Well, I’d say they clearly don’t want to communicate, every picture you can get of them is a blur, like they’re in a rush  _ not  _ to be seen,” Barclay said, and sounded a bit more defensively than he intended to.

“Hey, we don’t know their intentions!” Stern argued, “I’d be scared too if this race I didn’t understand wanted to come and find me. That’s why communicating good intentions is key - something my colleagues are not always the best at,” he groused. 

“No?” Barclay asked.

“If it were up to them I’m sure they’d put all the anomalies in one big government facility and do nothing but blood tests and interrogations until they were either too bored, too sick, or too depressed to move,” he said bitterly. Barclay sincerely hoped he didn’t look as pale and frightened as that made him feel, the image of white walls flashing in his mind and the feeling of needles running up his arms.

“Yikes,” he contributed.

“Yeah, I know,” Stern agreed, “That’s why I’m in this division, to treat things with a little more nuance.”

“So… you’re trying to protect these creatures?” Barclay asked cynically.

“Of course,” Stern said, and creased his eyebrows. “You know, learn about them, talk to them, too, but protecting them, that’s priority number one. Doing harm to something you don’t understand is… well, it’s… unforgivable.” He said all this like it was obvious, and Barclay regarded him carefully, trying to decide whether or not it was believable. In the silence Stern reshuffled slightly in his seat, and winced, providing ample opportunity to change the subject.

“How’s that been treating you?” Barclay asked, “It’s barely been two weeks, I can’t believe you’re this mobile.”

Stern shrugged. “Oh, you know,” he answered, “I’ve had worse.”

“Seriously?!” Barclay demanded, his eyebrows raising, “You’ve had worse than that?”

Stern looked down bashfully, shaking his head. “Well, no,” he confessed, “But I am… managing.”

“I can’t believe you’re still here after all that. Don’t you want to go home?” 

“How could I go home now? I’ve just had my first real break in months! Years!” he said, instantly ecstatic again. Barclay didn't share his excitement, his arms over his chest, one over the other. “I’m going into the forest today, by the stream,” he said, and before Barclay could object he went on, “Slowly, in the daylight this time! I’m not likely to find anything at the speed I can go but… I need some fresh air, I guess.”

Barclay grimaced - having him out by the stream, close to the springs wasn’t a  _ great  _ idea for Amnesty Lodge. But he couldn't rightly dissuade him, could he? Not without raising suspicion. “Alright,” he said, “I think it would probably be wise if I tagged along, though - don’t want you tripping and opening that thing up again without anybody there.”

Stern gave him that look again, that look that made him so nervous. “You… want to come down to the stream with me?” he rephrased.

“Why, do you mind?”

“No, no, I don’t mind, it's just-” he began, and then stopped himself, beaming, “I’d love for you to join me,” he said, his voice taking on a bit of that professional tone that he had first opened the door with. Barclay forced a smile back at him.


	4. One Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern's motivations become clear. Barclay tells him what makes him so unwelcome in Kepler. Things get a whole lot more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey!!!! tfw u forget to post for a year!!!!! anyway, im in the mood for AO3 again, so heres a funky lil chapter ;) have fun! leave a review if you liked it!!

In the time before the two of them left Barclay told Dani to run down to the springs, tell people to keep an eye out. She asked questions, as he suspected she would, in an accusatory fashion. ‘Why does he want to go down there? Why aren’t you stopping him? You’re going  _ with  _ him?’ Barclay’s explanations were enough to assuage her, but not by a lot - he could still see within her some notes of disappointment, some distant confusion as to what exactly he was doing. But in the end, with a promise that Barclay wouldn’t let him reach the springs, Dani complied. 

When that was done, he joined Stern outside Amnesty Lodge. The day was as beautiful as days in Kepler always were - the clouds were a dim gray, rolling slowly over the pines, and the air smelled like distant ozone. The wind felt cooler than the air when it was still and the mist across the horizon whispered of rain. Stern had his sunglasses off and for once he seemed to have left them in his room, and though his appearance was put-together as ever, the buttons of his blazer were left undone, and a few locks of hair stuck out of where they were styled to the side. His tie seemed just a touch looser, but his smile just a bit more tense - he looked almost like someone you just  _ knew,  _ Barclay observed. Not some faceless government agent. Just… a person. He was much easier on the eyes that way.

Barclay was dressed as he always was, a button up with the sleeves rolled up and a brown jacket, a pair of jeans, and of course, the bracelet. He smiled at Stern, who was oddly already smiling. “Are you alright to walk?” he asked.

“Not much point in me coming out if I wasn’t,” he said, “Unless you thought you were gonna carry me again.” He smiled at his own joke, and Barclay smiled too, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said, and slowly began to make his way towards the stream. Stern was mobile, but he was still slow, with a clear limp and a subtle wince when he walked. For that reason Barclay walked patiently slow with him, and at the very start of the stream they found it was a good place to walk. Because of the pain of it Stern seemed perfectly content to stop moving quite a ways from the springs, something that would undoubtedly make Dani happy, Barclay thought. At the sight of running water, Stern came to a tree and fell against it, letting his head tip back and hit the wood as he hissed. 

“Are you… sure you’re up for this?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m alright, just give me a sec.”

“We’re here anyway, so… no problem,” Barclay told him, tucking his hands in his pocket. “Here…” he said to him, and walked over to the side of him, where effortlessly he slid an arm around his back and walked along with him. 

“Oh!” Stern remarked softly, looking over to him, “Thank you.”   


“Don’t mention it,” Barclay answered, and there wasn’t a touch of effort in his voice - as he had before, he carried Stern like he was a sack of flour, though just as gently as one could. Stern hobbled along with him the few yards to the running stream which wove between the trees, creating a whispering noise of running water and a reflection so clear it could rival a mirror. Barclay set Stern down beside it and then sat down himself, and then pulled his legs in towards himself, crossing one over the other. “So… here it is,” he eventually said with a shrug.

“Sorry?” Stern said. His face was ever so slightly pink - from the exertion of the walk, Barclay was sure.

“Just… here it is. The stream.”

“Oh, right! It’s… beautiful,” Stern said, looking out towards it. It was easy to see why he kept his sunglasses on - without them he was almost too expressive for the job. It wasn’t that he was dramatic, just that his eyes, the little movements in his face seemed so very easy to read. He looked upon the forest with awe, but an anxiety was there as well. Only an alien would struggle to discern what he felt. Barclay eyed him, perplexed. “That was… nice of you to help me,” Stern said, meekly. “Again.”

“Oh, it’s - like I said. You’re pretty light, it’s no big issue.”

“You know I was thinking about it and I’m… actually not. I mean I’m… not huge, a hundred and eighty-something pounds, but… you move me around like I’m twenty,” he observed. 

“I’ve just always been a big dude, I guess,” Barclay laughed nervously, trying frantically to guess at how much it was normal for humans to be able to lift. He hoped to himself that he was in the realm of athletic, and not… abnormal.

Stern just nodded in response to what he said. “Well,” he said, “It’s impressive, that’s all.” He let the quiet linger between them for a moment. The sounds of the forest were much the same as they were last night, the same rustling and chirping and whistling, but this time it all seemed to blend into one long, soothing tone. Before the noises came out of the silence like knives, rigid and cold along the hairs of your neck. Now was different. One could be certain that there was no threat anywhere nearby, even if there was. And it smelled good too - like grass and pine. 

“You forgot your sunglasses,” Barclay observed, “Aren’t you supposed to wear those?”

Stern smiled at the ground, wincing as he extended his leg out in front of him. “Technically, yeah,” he said, “But I figured since this meeting was going to be a little less professional I may as well dress the part. I know I’m not supposed to, but, well, there’s… no reason my superiors need to know about it. A little infringement like that, I doubt it’ll come up.”

“Stern, I…” Barclay began, “I don’t mean to jump to conclusions, but… it seems like for an FBI agent you  _ really  _ don’t like the FBI.”

Stern laughed at that, looking out at the stream. “You’re not the first person to say that to me,” he confessed, “You’re right, honestly. Really I just joined because I thought it would get me paid and respected and maybe even believed…” He raised his eyebrows, and then shrugged it off. “At least I’m paid though, right?” he said. 

“I mean, I respect you,” Barclay said, and it was a surprise even to him that he wasn’t just saying it to ease suspicion - he meant it. Stern looked just as surprised.

“You do?” he asked.

“I mean, yeah, you devote your life not only to discovering new life but to making sure it’s treated properly once you do. You’re willing to sacrifice your job, your time for the wellbeing of things you don’t even understand. I mean… when you told me that you _hoped _that that abom- that thing that attacked you wasn’t too hurt, I thought for a second you were joking…” Barclay straightened his shoulders, and leaned back against the grass. “I wish more people were like you, then maybe I wouldn’t have to…”  
Stern looked at him, and Barclay’s heart raced. “Have to what?” he asked. 

Barclay winced internally at his mistake, and yet the ease did not slip from his posture. He didn’t lie, instead he said softly, “Nothing. Nevermind.” The trained investigator didn’t ask any questions. Barclay felt the wind come across his face and on it there seemed to be some burst of confidence, some trust that came in those hazel eyes and thoughtful brows. Barclay looked down at his hands, and inspired by the stream and the forest, he spoke like a poet, passionate and sentimental, like himself. There was something deeper in his voice, and it tied Stern’s insides in knots without him even understanding it.

“Listen, Stern, I’m sure you’ve noticed that the people around here aren’t… crazy about you,” he said bashfully. Stern pursed his lips and nodded. “And I mean I’m sure you used to it, but what you need to know is… this place is for people who don’t want to be found. And I don’t mean criminals and I don’t mean  _ aliens  _ or  _ monsters  _ I just mean that… people who don’t belong on Earth… come to Keplar. And where the Earth is blue and cold Amnesty Lodge is kind and gold and glowing… and you coming in here, it’s like… someone trying to smoke us out of this little… bubble of the universe. So when you go back and you bring more men into our town and you make it something to see, something connected to the outside, something that’s more than just the pines around it… well you… you’re scaring the people who don’t belong anywhere else.”

At this point Barclay was tearing up, and without apologizing he swiftly dried his eyes. Stern watched him, hardly breathing, and though it was subtle one could see that tears were making their way towards his eyes as well. His brow was creased in an expression not of sympathy, not of anything so distant - it was longing, longing that came deep from the heart and spilled out all over the grass and into the stream. For a while, he had no idea what to say, and Barclay smiled uncomfortably, but he didn’t apologize for himself, nor did he feel the need to ruin what he had said with some comment just after. He waited in the silence for Stern to speak. Eventually he did so.

“You know, Barclay, I…” he began slowly, and then stopped, letting out a breath that may have been used to speak. He then winced as he pulled his leg in, and then put his face in his hands only for a moment before looking back up towards the trees. “You know they sent me here as a joke?” he said eventually, “Picked up on it as soon as I got here, ‘The Cryptonomica’, all the paraphernalia, all the rumors… but I figured… I’d give it a shot. And I uh…” he laughed lowly and nervously, “I, uh, I’m pretty glad I did, because not only did I find my monster  _ and  _ bigfoot, which still has me reeling, I also found…” his words tripped, and his face started to go a little pinker as he smiled anxiously. Barclay watched him carefully. “I found, um… Ugh! Look at me, I can’t even say it…” He swallowed and tried again, breathing heavily. “I found someone who… who, um…” He made quick, rapid glances at Barclay, but always looked back down again. 

Barclay stared at him, and only in this moment did he put the situation together. The first thing he knew was confusion - he hadn’t seen someone act like that around him since he was in Silvane. He ached for a moment at the lovers he’d lost, before redirecting his focus to the dilemma this created. He only had a moment to process, however, before Stern shook his shoulders and muttered, “Oh, fuck it!”, leaned forward and pressed his lips into Barclay’s.

The kiss was only two and a half seconds long. In that two and a half seconds Stern felt a rush of adrenaline that rivaled that of the one he had the night he’d seen the creature. He hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, and not someone he liked in longer. It felt almost foreign, youthful and separate from the cold, stark nature of his work. Barclay, too, was immediately filled with a rush of adrenaline. It lasted the first half of a second, an alarm signal that went off at the speed of the direction switch. There was no time to think about how complicated this made things, to think of all the factors that made this an uncomfortable situation. But he was being kissed - he hadn’t been kissed in years. It was only during the last second of the kiss that startlement turned to fear, to dread. Facts poured in, unrefined on a checklist - Stern was an FBI Agent, he was an alien, he didn’t belong in Kepler, he was being unsafe, he was unsafe,  _ he was unsafe.  _ His heart fluttered not like that of a young lover but like that of an old runaway convict - bubbling up like boiling water and making his arms shake, making the pangs of guilt and embarrassment attack his head like nails driven in by a hammer. 

But between the two separate bouts of terror there was another second. A full second that seemed much slower than any of the time that surrounded it. For a moment the noise quieted, and a respectful spotlight was put upon this moment, the sound of breathing and the feeling of a warm body. Around him birds froze in midflight, the trees arched in their dance of the wind as the wind, still smelling of an ancient forest, came to a stop. This was a moment that would go with all other moments like it - lovers on Silvane and school crushes and partners who looked out the window with him. The streets and the light and the noise of Silvane, all rushing back for just a moment and intermingling perfectly with the forests of Keplar, two transparent panels atop one another that together were labeled  _ home.  _ And Stern smelled like fresh laundry, he noticed. Then it was over - time sped, panic set in, and Barclay put his hands onto Stern’s chest and pushed him away. 

Barclay didn’t have to speak to make Stern understand. In seconds, his face fell and went red again - not in a sweet, butterflies-in-the-stomach way, but in the hot, unpleasant, unforgettable way that told the world that he was  _ mortified.  _ His jaw hung for a moment, before he put together words to say and backed away by several respectful inches. “I am - s-so sorry, I thought this was… I-I… I didn’t mean to…”

“Stern, it’s not… your fault,” Barclay said, but still stumbled to his feet and held his head like he felt much worse about it than he should. He panicked, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to try and rub the stress from his eyes. One second, one second of  _ something.  _ Why did there have to be  _ that  _ one second? 

Stern didn’t stand yet, seeming to wilt into the ground as guilt pressed onto his shoulders. He shook his head. “No, no, I really am sorry that was… that was… wildly unprofessional,” he said, and in the final moment of his speech his voice took on his formal FBI tone, a thin mask to cover the humiliated shaking and cracking his voice was suffering. He adjusted his lapels, fixed his hair, wished he had his sunglasses, and then stood swiftly up. 

Barclay buried his face in his hands and shook his head, muffling his voice. “No… Stern, don’t…” he began, “Listen.” He looked up at Stern, seeming desperate, “I need you to understand that this… this can’t happen!” he exclaimed. He gestured at nothing with his hands, seeming unable to keep still, and laughed nervously. “And it’s not because you’re FBI and it’s not because you’re not a good guy, but it just… God… dammit, just take my word for it, this is… oh, this is just a mess!” Barclay put a hand on his hip again and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Stern swallowed, beginning to understand. “If you’re… if you’re straight you can just tell me,” he told him straightforwardly, “I get it, not everyone is-”

“No, Stern, it’s not that,” Barclay answered, “I can’t explain it to you right now, not the truth, and I… _definitely _am not in the mood for lying, so… just… take my word for it, alright? I’m sorry… I can’t.”  
Stern grimaced professionally, shoulders hanging low. “Alright,” he said, and didn’t ask any questions. 

Barclay, head buried in his hands again, paused for a moment before speaking. “If I leave you here can you get back to the Lodge?” he asked. 

Stern didn’t even take a moment to consider that question - the answer didn’t matter. “Of course I can, don’t worry about it.”

And with a nod and a heavy breath, Barclay turned around. He stopped for just a moment, looking over his shoulder as if to say something, and Agent Stern waited. He just stood there for several long seconds - what could he say now to fix any of this? What could he possibly help? After a long silence he landed on a rushed, “See you at the Lodge, Joe,” and started walking onwards. Stern looked to him and ached.    



	5. A Word Of Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay discusses what happened with a trusted friend. Stern rips his stitches. Mistakes are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovelies!!!! it occurs to me ive been neglecting you so heres a CHUNGY chapter. btw to those of you who give me nice reviews: You Are My Life Source.

It was sunset in Amnesty Lodge. Stern had long since hobbled his way back and hidden away in his room and Barclay was back out in the lobby, watching the last dregs of deep orange sunlight stream across the wooden tables as the light began to fade. Soon the lights inside would come on and stream outwards, blackening the windows and indicating the presence of stars - but not yet. Barclay sat silently, leaning back in his chair, appreciating the darkest point in the lobby of Amnesty Lodge, and thinking. He looked across the room. He couldn’t help but wonder what this place looked like full - based on his limited knowledge of normal hotels and lodges from television he knew, at least, that it was supposed to be - bustling with noise with every seat filled up, people chatting and having some mediocre breakfast. He tried to imagine every seat taken, but it felt like too much noise for Amnesty Lodge. Then where would be the space between people? The nothingness where the sunlight streamed through? No, this place was meant to be barren - because the more guests who came the more people had been turned away. On one of the chairs he noticed a leather jacket still hung around the back. It was Aubrey’s.

As if on cue the owner of the jacket walked in from the hallway, wearing a set of pajamas with small blue rabbits all over them and a tired look on her face. “Oh, hey Barclay,” she said casually, and made her way over to the chair where her jacket was, lifting it off.

“Hey, Aubrey,” he said, and he sounded just as tired and frustrated as he was. 

“You alright?” she asked. 

Barclay grimaced. “Yeah!” he said, but it took too long to answer, “Yeah I’m just thinking about… Aubrey there’s- there’s something I need to tell you. Or I need to tell _ someone, _I guess, but I… I need you to keep it a secret.”

Aubrey wasted no time in sliding into the seat beside him, her jacket held over her shoulder. She creased her eyebrows. “Uhh… shoot!” she answered brightly.

Barclay sighed. It probably wasn’t good to tell anyone, he thought. But if he kept it to himself he’d lose an objective view of things, start to get too emotional, out of control. Liking someone had an odd knack for making you stupid, and he couldn’t afford to be stupid right now, no matter how embarassing it was. So he took in a long breath and leaned forward, trying to think of how to begin. “Okay, so… there’s- there’s bad news and… and worse news,” he started out. Aubrey gained a cautious look, but remained steady as ever.

“Okay…” she said lowly, “Well, I guess I’ll… take the worse news first.”

“It’s… actually sort of sequential so that wouldn’t really work.”

“Oh. Okay. So the bad news.”

“The bad news!” Barclay parroted, “Yeah, the bad news… Okay, so, a little backstory you know that… me and, um, Agent Stern have actually had to… be around each other a little more lately. Cause you know he got attacked and I sort of watched out for him…”  
“Yeah!”  
“Yeah, so you know… all that.”

“Yeah, it was only reasonable,” Aubrey supported.

“Well…” Barclay said, and then let out a breath. “Last night he wanted to go out to the stream and I wanted to go with him just in case, you know, there were any Silfs there who needed to put their disguises back on, and um… we got to talking and, um… he… Aubrey, he… he kissed me.” For a moment the silence stagnated between them, and Barclay furiously searched for an expression on Aubrey’s face. There was surprise, certainly, but a reasonable kind - the kind that told him she was already trying to figure out how to deal with it.

“O… kay,” she said, “That does… _ sort of… _complicate things, did you… pardon my French but did you go any further, or…?”

“No, no no no no, it was just that and I pushed him away right after and told him it wouldn’t work,” he explained.

“Okay,” Aubrey said again, “So… what’s the worse news.”

Barclay grimaced wide this time, staring down at the table. His voice lowered bashfully. “Aubrey, I… I think I may have… wanted him to.”

Aubrey took a moment to evaluate this. She cocked her head, but her face remained steadily nonjudgmental. That was part of the reason he had picked her to talk to - she upheld a constant mantra of ‘to each their own’. He could be certain that his taste in men wouldn’t be a factor of the problem. 

“Huh…” she finally said.

“I know, it’s bad,” Barclay said guiltily.

“No - hey - it’s - it’s _ unexpected… _ it’s - not gonna lie - _ kind of _inconvenient. Uhh I mean I don’t know if it would be… super smart to open that door right now, but I mean, if you think you can make it work-”

Barclay shook his head. “What are you _ talking _about Aubrey, I could never actually… be with him!” he declared, and those last three words, in that order, felt like swears to say, “I- I’m keeping it under control it’s just…” he laughed to himself, “Man, all that humans on Earth and it really had to be him. Really great taste over here, endangering everyone around me for a pretty face.”

“Hey, Barclay, I say cut yourself a break!” Aubrey declared, “It’s not like you have a huge pool to choose from. I mean, who do you talk to that lives outside the Lodge that isn’t Ned or Duck?”

Barclay didn’t answer. The silence spoke for itself. 

“Yeah, so, you know, you’re entitled every once in a while!” Aubrey suggested, “I say just be aware of it, be cautious, and it shouldn’t be too big a deal.”  
Barclay nodded, the anxiety in his chest beginning to melt. He sighed. “Thank you, Aubrey, that - that helps a lot to hear,” he said. 

“Yeah, no problem,” she said, “So are you good for tonight because I had already scooped my iced cream before I remembered I left my jacket here and I don’t want it to melt _ too _bad.”

“Yeah, Aubrey, I’m fine,” Barclay answered, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

“Awesome. See you around, Barclay.”

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

“Hey - anytime.”

Barclay and Stern, for a few days, lived in a sort of friendship purgatory. On the one hand, Barclay was exercising being mean. A muscle that he rarely used and was quickly left sore, he would try to deny him little bouts of helpfulness, avoid him, ignore him. Short, snappy words and mean glances, always followed by unbearable waves of guilt that would lead to a muttered apology and something twice as sweet. For days, he scorned himself. This is the enemy, the _ enemy, _he insisted to himself. But when he said something rude to him and Stern just creased his eyebrows, confused and hurt and the silence began to drag on, it was just too much to maintain. That wasn’t just the case with Stern - it always had been, with everyone. Only now he seemed to be failing twice as hard and twice as much, buckling and being sweet just for the chance to see that bewildered smile. It was sickening.

Stern, on the other hand, was remarkably patient. As far as he was concerned, Barclay’s behavior changed from second to second and he had almost no understanding as to why. He seemed stressed and tired, though, like he hadn’t slept in days, and all his bouts of rudeness were small enough and quick enough to pass off as sleep deprivation. He also maintained a healthy distance - he of course wanted _ something _with Barclay, even if it wasn’t a relationship. But after being the one to reach out the first time it couldn’t be him to start it - he’d have to sit and wait until Barclay decided he was ready for it. He wasn’t great at waiting, and it seemed like it was all he had done since he had come to Kepler. For that reason, it frustrated him quickly, and he went those several days chronically annoyed and impatient, throwing pillows and kicking the ground - of course, he should have known better than to kick things.

After a few days something happened that most would have expected to have happened weeks ago - he tore his stitches open. He was being stupid, grousing to himself outside Amnesty Lodge, kicking a rock, and before he knew it there was a searing pain and he felt his pant leg getting wet. “Shit!” he hissed. It didn’t bleed as fast as the first time, at least, but it bled fast - before he had even gotten back to the doorway of the Lodge he began to feel lightheaded, and practically fell against the doors. In that moment, fear took him like a crackling cold. The feeling of lightheadedness and the steadily increasing pain was a hint of what he felt that night, and in flashes blurry images of dark creatures, stark white rooms, and absolute horror and agony filled him again. He growled to himself, “Come on, Joe, keep it together,” and continued inwards. 

In the lobby were Dani and Aubrey, both with their cups of coffee talking lightly with each other. Dani noticed him first, her eyes going wide as her coffee hit the table. Aubrey didn’t hesitate, springing to her feet. Stern looked about to collapse before she caught him under the arm. Dani stayed to the side, looking helpless, glancing frantically between the two of them with her hands facing each other in front of her. Aubrey gave her a reassuring nod, and she seemed to calm.

Stern breathed out, leaning fully on her. “Thank you,” he sighed.

“Don’t mention it,” Aubrey said through a groan. Unlike Barclay, she was somewhat affected by the weight of a grown man around her. Nevertheless, she helped him through the hallway. Aubrey grimaced - it wasn’t really right for her to drop him off Barclay’s, was it? Then again, she couldn’t heal him. She couldn’t take him to the infirmary, not when he was this sharp. Could she just take him back to his room? No, that was just cruel. There had to be somewhere. Either way, they went on through the hall, Stern making a distinct effort to walk on his own, and failing every time. He swore repeatedly to himself, leaving a thin trail of blood drops and smudges behind him. He glanced back, seeing it.

“Sorry about that,” he winced, “I can clean that later.”

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll get it,” Aubrey answered. 

Stern’s knees buckled and he groaned to himself as a specifically bad wave of pain and dizziness hit him, and Aubrey buckled with him. She cried out to Dani, who was following nervously. “Okay, Dani, get Barclay,” she commanded, and Dani ran off ahead of them.

“No, she doesn’t have to do that, I’ll take care of it.”

“Listen, buddy, you’re bleeding out right now and I can’t take you much farther on my own, so unless you know any other people who can carry three hundred pounds and still have medical supplies in their room, just let me do my thing,” Aubrey scolded. He made no attempt to argue. In seconds Barclay was coming through the room and saw what was happening, Dani at his side. He didn’t look as panicked as one normally did around this much blood since he had dealt with it before, but he was startled to say the last. Stern smiled guiltily as Barclay quickly stepped forward and effortlessly lifted him back to his feet.

Aubrey spoke to him so softly that Stern wouldn’t be able to hear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else could help,” she whispered with a wince.

Barclay shook his head and shrugged as if to say ‘it’s alright’. “Thanks,” he said softly, and Aubrey nodded.

With that Barclay took him onwards back into his room. They hadn’t had a full conversation until the uncomfortable moment, so suffice to say, this was strange. But he still had stitches, and he was still just as willing to take care of him now as he was then. He opened the door with his unused hand and dropped Stern down on his bed, where he winced, his hands starting to shake. He was pale now, and sweating, but not nearly as bad as he was the night it had happened. Barclay didn’t speak, fetching the stitching things from a drawer in the kitchen. He had brought them up a while back, assuming Stern would tear his stitches again and need a hand. As it turned out he was right - he just didn’t think it would take this long. Stern, began to try to sit up and roll up his pants leg, but by the time he was already done Barclay pushed him roughly back down. Stern grimaced - he wished he wouldn’t do that, not now.

As he saw that Barclay was threading the hooked needle he spoke up. “I can take care of it myself,” he said casually, “It’s no problem.”

“Show me your hands,” Barclay ordered.

“What?”

“Your hands.”

Confused, Stern did so. He held them up steadily, and they were shaking like he was in a ten degree cold. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Barclay said roughly. He evaluated the damage. There wasn’t much to do - luckily he hadn’t ripped them all out in one movement, there was only one small section that had been torn open. It bled a lot, yes, but it would be easily mended. Barclay took out a small cloth and pressed down on it, hard. Stern grunted, but didn’t complain any further than that. Quickly, he got to work.

In the silence he realized that this seemed like a pretty good time to talk - he hadn’t done so in a long time and he’d been thinking about what he wanted to say. With no luck, he should add. Nevertheless, it was better to say something than to let this silence stretch on. “I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting,” he said eventually. 

This caught Stern’s attention. He didn’t ask what he meant. “It’s alright,” he told him straightforwardly. 

“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” Barclay said, “I do like you and… hanging out with you. That just shook me up, is all.”

“No, yeah, I get it,” Stern said, “It wasn’t what you wanted.”

Barclay stopped doing his stitches for a moment, staring off into the distance. There were heavy circles under his eyes and that phrase seemed to weigh heavy on him, his giant shoulders sagging downwards. Stern watched him carefully, reading his response, and then spoke carefully again. “...Right?” he asked.

Barclay spared him one rapid look before taking in a breath and getting back to his work. “Right,” he growled, “Right, just not what I want right now, is all. Other things going on, just wouldn’t work. The kind of person I am, the kind of person you are. You’ll be out of here in a week or two anyway, so it wouldn’t work regardless.” He spoke swiftly, like people speak at business meetings. Hardening, Stern mimicked his tone.

“Of course,” he said, “I completely understand, it wouldn’t make any sense at all.”

“Yeah. You get it. Logistics,” Barclay told him.

Stern nodded. “Logistics,” he mimicked. 

Barclay nodded distinctly, knowing everything he said to be a lie, knowing it so intensely it seemed to pound at his head. Nevertheless, it would work for now. Changing the subject, he moved on. 

“What did you do to do this anyway?” Barclay asked.

“Kicked a rock?” 

Before he knew it, he was smiling full faced. It was almost disturbing how easily it happened. “What did you do that for?”  
Stern smiled back, laughing softly and then wincing. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, “Bleed a little, pass the time.”

“Oh, yeah, sounds like a blast. Is that why you got attacked in the first place?”

“I got some clues, didn’t I?”

Barclay smiled down at him. Maybe if he was lucky they could stay just the way they were - something close to - bordering on - flirting with friends. Smiling at a joke, asking what was wrong. Nothing else. Just a little company. That was all he wanted, was just a little company - and based on the look in his eyes Stern seemed glad to have it too. 

“Well…” Stern said, and looked down, “Thank you again for patching me up! I didn’t want to bother you, I was gonna do it myself, but that little… red haired girl insisted on it.”

Barclay smiled. “Aubrey,” he told him, “And it’s no problem, really. Like I said before, if you die, they send more people.”

Stern looked ever so slightly disappointed at that, but smiled anyway. “Well, it’s good to have you in my corner. I mean, if you still want to…”

“Yeah,” Barclay answered. Neither of them were sure what the end of that sentence was in words, but they knew it in spirit, and that was all that mattered. Stern smiled at him.

“Good,” he said. A slightly more solemn experience took his face, and he went on. “Hey, what you said about Kepler, that… that was really beautiful,” he said. Barclay looked down, and didn’t answer. Stern lowered his voice. “I want you to know that… I can’t promise anything, but… I’ll try not to disturb the life here. A case like this, what with all the dangers in the woods… we can keep it in HQ don’t you think?”

Barclay raised his eyebrows, surprised. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was risking his job for what he said, going through extra effort to protect the things _ he _ cared about. Barclay’s chest ached, wishing he would stop. _ Fuck, _he thought to himself, as dread came down around his shoulders. He’d need to do something mean to counteract this, he thought, something little, or he’d get carried away.

“Well...” Stern went on, and with a groan he went to sit up. As Barclay had before he reached forward and pushed him back down harder than necessary, making the mattress bounce a little beneath him. Only this time when he looked down Stern didn’t look as irked as he usually did, in fact, he didn’t look annoyed at all. He looked intensely focused, his eyes locked on Barclay and his lips slightly parted. He was breathing deep and slow, which Barclay only now discovered he knew because his hand was still placed on Stern’s chest, rising and falling like the tide. They stared at each other, totally unable to move. Stern let out a breath that he couldn’t quite form into an objection. Barclay rolled back his shoulders like he was standing up, but never did. And this time, Stern didn’t sit up. Barclay leaned down, and kissed him.

The two of them leaned into each other with the desperation of addicts, each of them telling themselves that in just one second they would object. Stern would say he had to be professional, he was here for work, he couldn’t push Barclay’s boundaries. Barclay would say this was impossible, he couldn’t be with an FBI agent, this was a mistake. But every movement they made away from each other they were pulling at invisible chains, and before they knew it Barclay was on the bed atop Stern and clothes were coming off, buttons undone, zippers unzipped (though Barclay’s rational thought was just audible enough that he was sure to keep his bracelet on). The two of them went on and on, telling themselves with every second that passed that the next was the last. Each second of warmth and fire and need passed and another came, but nevertheless, on it went, all for the want of just _ one _ more, god _ please, one _more second until we can never speak of this again.

But it wasn’t seconds. It was minutes. Minutes upon minutes until they were both flushed and sweaty and under the same sheet, their clothes having been discarded to the floor and the horrifying complexity of the matter only beginning to dawn on them both. Both of them were staring at the ceiling, wearing similar looks of worry. It was an odd situation in the way that they were - because they made almost the same exact mistake they actually had their grief in common, almost like friends would. Though, one could argue, for Barclay it was worse. He let out a long, pained groan as he lifted his hands to his face and sat up.

“ _ Fuck…”  _ he said distinctly, “Oh, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Stern sympathized, “On the second… not-date, I don’t usually… actually, ever,” he amended, “I don’t ever, especially after you made it pretty clear, so that’s- that’s my bad, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Barclay shook his head, rubbing his eyes hard. “This is a nightmare,” he said, and then ran his hands through his hair. “Did you tear your stitches again?”  
Stern checked under the sheet. “No,” he said, “Surprisingly.”

“That’s good at least,” Barclay went on. Stern sat up along with him, pulling the sheet up a little higher over his chest. After another moment of quiet, he spoke very sternly, though still a little out of breath.

“What are we gonna do about this?” he asked seriously. Barclay opened his eyes wide, having been wondering that question himself.

“I have no idea,” he confessed.

“Because it’s pretty clear this can’t happen on either side so seriously, what are we gonna do about this?”

“I have no idea!” Barclay said again, with more insistence this time. Stern sighed.

“Forgive me for being crude, but… I think we’re both thinking it,” he began cautiously, “It doesn’t help that it was really, _really _good, does it?”  
“No. No,” Barclay said, running his hands over his face again. “That’s not crude. You’re right, you’re absolutely right,” he confessed. There was no way to deny that that was, to some degree on his mind. It would be one thing if he’d tried this with a human and it was just as strange as uncomfortable as one would expect it to be under such circumstances - but unfortunately for him he was still feeling the effects from it, wearing off slow like the sweetness of candy. He took in a sharp breath and then looked to Stern. “Should we stop talking to each other?”  
Stern winced. “Maybe…” he said, “Isn’t that what we tried to do?”

“Yeah, but… do it on purpose this time,” Barclay recommended. He didn’t want to do that, not in the least, but if it would keep him safe, it may very well have been his last option. Based on Stern’s expression, he could tell he wasn’t thrilled about it either.

“If you think it’s a good idea,” he said.

Barclay sighed, then shook his head. “Maybe,” he said, “For now maybe we can just… get our clothes on?”  
“Yep. Good idea.”  
The two of them dressed rigidly. They avoided looking at each other as though they were uneasy acquaintances in a public changing room, like they hadn’t just seen every inch of those bodies, like they didn’t know _exactly _how they felt and they moved. In seconds they were both presentable again, Stern pulling on a blazer before his pants, dreading the feeling of warm blood against his legs. Without thinking, Barclay pulled open a drawer on his dresser and tossed him a pair of jeans.

“Thanks,” Stern said.

“Just to your room,” Barclay insisted. Stern nodded, the way one would nod when understanding the layout of a military plan. He pulled on the pants, which hung loosely around his waist as Barclay did two more buttons, and then, swearing at himself, found he had misbuttoned and redid them. Stern looked to the bed, which was not only messy for reasons one can assume, it was also soaked to the mattress in blood (which was both much more disturbing and  _ much  _ harder to clean). He grimaced, seeing that there was a trail along the floor as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “If you want I can-”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it,” Barclay said shortly, “Helping each other out, remember?”

“Said the guy who just gave me a spare pair of pants without me even asking.”

Barclay stopped buttoning for a moment, only now having realized that that was, in fact, a favor. At the time, it had only felt natural. This was going to be harder than he’d thought. Still, he was hesitant to bring up the ‘no contact’ strategy again - it just drilled too deep into his gut for him to say it. So he didn’t answer, finishing his button. 

“Are you good to walk?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, “See you.”

Barclay nodded, and Stern limped out the door. Barclay collapsed into a chair at the dining room, his head falling into his hands. Just stay smart, Aubrey had told him. Be aware of it, she’d said. He thought he’d listened, but apparently some stupid part of him didn’t get the memo. Every time he thought of what he had done he thought  _ that couldn’t possibly be me, I couldn’t possibly be that stupid  _ \- but there was the proof, just in front of him. And that wasn’t even bringing in the moral ramifications as far as Stern was concerned. He had had sex with him  _ with a different body.  _ It was all under the guise that he was a human when that, in fact, was not the case. He didn’t know a whole lot about human laws, but if that wasn’t a sex crime he couldn’t imagine what was, not to mention just questionable and skeevy in general. It was, admittedly, a saddening mental image - how disgusted Stern would be if he ever found out. Barclay kept his head buried in his hands for the rest of the night, horrified by his actions. 


	6. The Last Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay has a harrowing discussion with Mama about the irresponsibility of his actions. Stern meets Barclay in the lobby, and everything is laid bare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this one is a CHUNKY boy, but i just couldn't think of where to break it up! i hope you guys like it! thanks for the comments and kudos yall, and to my regulars (you know who you are) you are my LIFESOURCE!!! NEVER stop being you, you crazy punks!!

Come the morning, Jake, upon seeing Barlcay in the kitchen, told him that Mama wanted to talk to him in her office. His face blanched, his hand freezing where he was mixing up his eggs. He looked to Jake, trying to read him for some understanding, and there was a little something there. If he was utterly clueless, a kid like Jake would have asked about it. Barclay nodded sheepishly and took his eggs off the stove, turning it off and leaving them there. He thanked Jake and made his way towards Mama’s office, heart pounding in his chest and thoughts racing.  _ Oh, I fucked up, I fucked up,  _ he thought over and over again on a loop. As he approached the door he began to feel sick. He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Mama’s voice came. Barclay let out a sharp breath, shutting his eyes and doing his best to calm himself before stepping inside. He looked around, seeing the piles upon piles of maps on the sofa, papers all over the desk. Mama, upon seeing him, stood up from her desk. A hand squeezed Barclay’s heart. She looked furious. She didn’t speak for a moment as he shut the door, crossing her arms in front of her. When she spoke, it was dangerously soft, dripping with contempt. “You wanna tell me why Agent Stern was walking out of your room wearing your  _ pants _ ?” she asked.

Barclay went pale, deeply mortified. He cursed Stern in his head - who had caught him? He was an FBI Agent, wasn’t he supposed to  _ not  _ be seen? “Mama, I - I can explain.”

“I sure as Hell hope you can, because if it turned up you’ve been fooling around with an FBI agent I may very well have to kick you to the curb for putting us all at risk!”  
Barclay openly winced at that, terror striking him by the throat. “No! No, listen, he- he tore his stitches, he bled through his own pair, and I loaned him one so he didn’t have to walk back covered in blood!” he said, and technically it wasn’t a lie.

“Do I _look _like I was born yesterday?!” Mama demanded sharply, “The way you two been hanging around each other, I woulda thought you were a pair of regular lovebirds!” She paused for a moment, letting that insult go on stinging, before she held the bridge of her nose and went on brutally, “How long have you been fucking him?”  
This made Barclay’s face go from pale to hot red, the crude terminology tearing into him like a blade. “What?” he breathed, barely fathoming what she had said.

“You heard me, how long have you been fucking him?!”  
This she’d said louder, loud enough it travelled through the walls. 

“It - it only happened once and it will  _ never  _ happen again,” Barclay assured her lowly.

“Yeah, you’re damn fucking right it won’t,” she laughed furiously, “Barclay, what the Hell are you thinking?! If he saw what you were-”

“I know, I know…”

“Do you?!” she cried out, “Do you really know!?” Her voice softened as she took a step out from behind her desk, talking dangerously. “Tell me Barclay, you wanna go to some government facility somewhere? Spend the rest of your life in a white room, needles poking into you every second of the day, malnourished, _dying, _here on Earth? You want that for Moira, and Dani, and Jake, you want them there alone, confused and crying for their homes?!”  
“_Enough!” _Barclay exclaimed in a shout, “God damnit, Mama, enough!” He looked like he might have cried, burying his face in his hands as he fell down onto the couch, maps crinkling underneath him. Shaking his head, he went on, quieter now, “I get it, Mama, I do, I fucked up. I fucked up bad.”

“Damn right you did,” she agreed, “And know that I am dead serious when I say that if anything like this happens again… Amnesty Lodge will not be open to you. You’ll just have to find your way on your own.” Barclay looked up at her, shaking at the thought. It horrified him that it pained her to say it, and she really seemed to mean it. She  _ did  _ mean it. However much it hurt to hear, she should have meant it - he’d put everyone at risk. 

Mama then sighed, and her tone changed. “That said,” she went on, and Barclay was relieved to hear that she was speaking like a friend again, “Barclay, this is _not _like you. You are not a-a libido-driven man, I know that much, what the Hell’s gotten into you?”  
Barclay shook his head. His shoulders sagged, defeated. “I don’t know,” he whispered. 

“Because if Stern forced you to-” she began, and all her defensive anger returned.

“No, no, nothing like that, it was all consensual,” he promised, shaking his hands back and forth. He sat for a long time, trying to put an answer together. Mama did so before he did.

“Barclay, you…” she began cautiously, “You got a fondness for this fella?”  
Barclay looked up to her slowly. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I do.” 

Mama let out a long and heavy sigh. “Man, of all the people…” she said.

“I know, I know,” Barclay promised, “But he’s… he’s not like you think he is, Mama. He doesn’t want us all dead, he wants to protect us, that’s the reason he joined the FBI, he does the same thing we do, he stops misinformation-”  
“Barclay, the man thinks you’re _human,” _Mama insisted softly, “Soon as he found out what you were, what makes you think he wouldn’t call up his team right that second? What makes you think he wouldn't shoot you on the spot?”

“Because he just…  _ wouldn’t,  _ Mama, he didn’t before and I have no reason to believe that would change.”

Mama put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean he didn’t before?” she asked. Barclay leaned back, looking thoughtful.

“When he was attacked by the abomination,” Barclay began, “I watched him. He did everything he could before shooting it, it was inches away from him before the first bullet flew. Something three times his size and he… he just wanted to talk to it, Mama. That’s all he wants!”  
“And hasn’t it even _once _occurred to you that this isn’t all about what he wants?” Mama demanded lowly, “You may not know a whole lot about the American federal police but let me tell you they would not be swayed by the testimony of one man. I get that you trust him, I do. But even if he went to his crowd with the most stirring, emotional speech about how we should leave the fine folk of Keplar alone it won’t mean jack-squat to those that’s quick to make decisions and frightened of things they don’t understand. I mean… don’t you _remember _you other run-ins with the FBI?”

Barclay did remember. He remembered people like hawks, never letting up and never letting go, even after he pleaded them for it. He remembered dull covered eyes, and disgust around the unknown. Of  _ course  _ he remembered, he thought, as a chill went up his spine as a flash of his time on Earth before finding Keplar came back to him in a rush. How could he forget? “I remember,” he said, and looked tired, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Then you understand why this is just too dangerous.”

Barclay swallowed. He thought desperately about some bottom of the barrel argument he could use other than the juvenile, obnoxious, ‘but mama, I like him!’. Nothing came. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I understand.”

“Good,” Mama answered, eyes downcast, “You’re free to go.”

Without another word Barclay stood up and slipped out of the office.

For quite some time later Barclay sat, still somewhat pale faced, at one of the tables in the corner of the lobby. He hadn’t gotten into anything even bordering on a fight with mama since the time they’d met, which was at this point a very long time ago. Guilt weighed heavier onto him with her voice in his mind - after all, she was right about everything. He had been so careless, so thoughtless, and it seemed like no matter how hard he tried the other side of the coin would always win. How could he be so stupid? He rubbed his face, still shaking at the thought of white rooms and sharp needles. He forced himself to go over the daydreams again and again and again until the sun began to set, until they seemed like more of a memory than a fantasy, until he felt like maybe he’d been adequately punished to learn his lesson.

Stern stepped up to Barclay, seeing him stare mindlessly out the window. He looked pale, he noticed, and worried. He took in a breath, heart acting up, and slid into a chair beside him. His face was stark, and he said nothing. Barclay looked at him, and made no suggestion that he should leave. For a moment silence stretched between them, the weight of the situation falling squarely on both of their shoulders. Eventually, Stern broke the quiet.

“Do you think you can be my friend?” he asked, glancing in Barclay’s direction. “Realistically.”

Barclay took in a long breath. He didn’t look at him, he just kept his eyes forward and smiled shyly. He then shook his head with a grimace. “No,” he admitted. He leaned back in his chair, looking right at Stern. His sunglasses were off, the golden light of the setting sun reflecting in his hazel eyes and along the curve of his cheek. His voice was so soft, like a whisper, so easily affectionate and loving. Barclay spoke as honestly and truthfully as he could, an ache in his voice. “I think I’m in love with you,” he admitted. 

Stern looked shocked at this for a moment, his lips parted slightly. He then took in a long breath and let it out, ever so slowly, his eyes going wide. He searched for something to say, but nothing seemed to come, his head falling into his hands. Barclay spoke again.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head as his cheeks went pink, “I shouldn’t have said that, I wasn’t thinking.”  
“No, it’s fine, I just…” Stern began, and swallowed, “I’ve never heard those words… coming from a man,” he admitted uneasily, and rubbed his eyes hard.

Barclay’s chest fell, feeling helpless. Already exhausted, he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “Oh - god, you don’t deserve that, had I known-”

“You would have what? Lied? Not lo-” the word got caught in his mouth. He stopped, wincing and running his tongue over the front of his teeth with a small hum of acknowledgement. He was quiet for a long while, and then, eyes locked on the table, he said, “I uh… love you too…” he said, and it seemed agonizing for the words to leave his lips, “In case you were um… wondering.”

Barclay looked at him tenderly. “I was,” he confessed, his voice hardly above a whisper. He gritted his teeth. The evening seemed to settle calmly around them, sinking to the floor, and the light outside had faded from gold to muted blue. The only sound in the room was the breath of the two of them. Barclay watched Stern closely. Stern’s eyes were still fixated on the center of the table, hands along the rim of it with his shoulders up. His face was perfectly neutral, but with a focus characteristic of someone reading, as opposed to someone staring off into space. It wasn’t until subtle sheen on eyes glistening in the moonlight and a twitch in his jaw gave him away that Barclay realized his focus was being devoted to not crying. 

“Can you tell me… why?” he said after a moment, eyes still fixed on the table, and a huskiness to his voice. 

Barclay bit his cheek. He felt as though he wasn’t much farther from crying than Stern was, a tense feeling building up in his throat. He ached to tell him everything, to spill it all out on the floor and remove all the road blocks between them. But Mama was right - he couldn’t betray Amnesty Lodge. And he couldn’t leave. So, sorrow gripping his chest, he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “You have to believe me, if I could-”

Stern let out a sharp breath, his composure faltering, and as soon as he did so he swiftly leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with his hand, good leg bouncing up and down to try and work off the tears in some other way than crying. “Sorry,” he managed out, “This is very-”

“Unprofessional?” Barclay mused. “We’re not being professional, Joe,” he said.

His first name serving as yet another stab to the gut, Stern winced, and tears forced themselves out of his eyes. “Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” he muttered, and dried them forcibly, not moving his hand. 

Barclay sighed, trying to think of what to say. He was so tired, and nothing was coming. So he said what he wanted to say - “Please don’t cry,” he asked. This had the opposite effect, and Barclay winced. “There’ll be others, better than me by a mile. You’re a handsome fella, smart, and tough as nails if I’ve ever seen it,” he said with a half smile. He then grew sober again, eyes tracing the lines along the floorboards, and found his heart was pounding in his chest. One more risk, he told himself, and he’d be done. “I’ve been… lying to you,” he said, finally.

This, at long last, made Stern uncover his eyes, which were now somewhat red. He creased his eyebrows. “What?” he asked.

“That’s right, I…” Barclay went on, but no lies came, so he just swallowed and glanced down, “I can’t tell you how. But I promise if you were to find out what I was…  _ who  _ I was…” He gritted his teeth, his own eyes now staring to go misty, “Let’s just say you’d be fine with getting back into the dating pool.”

“Well are you - are you a criminal, what, did you kill somebody?” Stern stammered.

“No, nothing like that.”

“A Russian spy?”

“No, no-”  
“Then what?” Stern asked, “All I’m asking for is a reason for it, if you want to be with me, then…” his voice softened in half a second, taking on a remarkably tender tone that pulled at Barclay’s chest, “Then be with me.”  
Barclay groaned softly to himself, feeling once again that it didn’t matter what he did now, he’d give in like he always did. But no… it had to be different. Amnesty was all he had - if Mama made him leave again. With a wince he forced himself to think of the white rooms and the sharp needles again, only this time he saw Stern as the one holding him down, and he made a point of imagining Dani and Jake crying as they got strapped down in beds on either side of him. That wasn’t something he could allow to happen, and Stern wasn’t worth the risk. He couldn’t be.

Heavily, Barclay stood up, nodding for Stern to follow. He made his way over to the kitchen, flicking on the lights, bright, invasive LEDs and opening up a cabinet. As Stern leaned up against a counter Barclay pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Do you drink?” Barclay asked. Stern creased his eyebrows, still watery-eyed.

“Um… sure,” he answered. Barclay poured them both a glass, and handed one to Stern.

“I know I haven’t exactly… given you a lot to work with,” Barclay said guiltily, “It’s not fair to ask you to just trust me, but believe me when I tell you… something bad could happen to me and everybody in this place if I tell you anything else. You  _ have  _ to take my word for it, it’s not…  _ safe  _ and I can’t tell you why. It’s not fair to you, I know, and… Hell, I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

Stern regarded him carefully, holding his glass in both hands and taking a small sip of it. “Barclay,” he said steadily, “The people in this lodge aren’t… people, are they?”

Barclay’s eyes went wide, terror grasping at his throat. This was it. It was all over. White walls and needles, white walls and needles, “U-um, no, n-nothing like that,” he managed, but his voice was too loud and his tone was too stumbling.

“It’s alright, I don’t have any proof,” Stern said, holding up a hand, “Even if I wanted to tell my team, which I don’t, I wouldn’t have anything to tell them.” He took a moment, looking down into his drink, “It’s what I thought when I first came here… a Lodge in the middle of nowhere and I’ve never heard talk of checks, never seen anyone check out? Not to mention the way people look at me. That man who comes in with Ned Chicane sometimes wears a sword for a  _ belt,  _ and I’m fairly sure it’s real. At first I told myself it was just how I thought because, you know, every time something weird happens I assume it’s aliens, that’s why I got into this job. But when… when I heard Mama shouting at you earlier…”

“Oh, god,” Barclay groaned, and his face immediately flushed as his head fell into his hands, drink hitting the counter behind him. “You… you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t hear much.”

“What did you hear?”

Stern grimaced. “‘How long have you been fucking him?’” he quoted. Barclay turned even redder.

“Oh my God, Joe, I’m so sorry, you weren’t supposed to - Oh… my God…” he groused, humiliated. 

Stern chuckled and waved his hands in front of him. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he assured him, “I mean, there’s… nothing to be embarrassed about, we… did, so…”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want you to… she shouldn’t have… put it like that, oh my God…”

“Barclay, it’s really fine!” Stern assured him. “At first I… figured maybe she was homophobic but I’ve seen her smiling at those two young ladies Aubrey and Dani like she couldn’t be more pleased they were hitting it off, so that was out. I thought maybe you were all criminals, but… Jake’s only seventeen or something like that and that hardly seemed realistic.”

Barclay shook his head, grabbing his glass off the table and draining half of it. “Fuck,” he hissed to himself, and when he pulled his hand from his drink it was shaking, hard. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, so they travelled swiftly from his hips to his head to the table behind him. Tears welled up in his eyes. “ _ Fuck…” _

“Barclay,” Stern said coolly, holding up a hand, “Look at me.” Letting out a sharp breath, Barclay obeyed, staring into the intensity of Stern’s hazel eyes. “I’m not gonna tell anyone,” he said, and seemed to mean it. Barclay scoffed, and he insisted again, “I’m serious, I’m not gonna tell  _ anyone.” _

“If Mama finds out you figured it out because of me-”  
“Barclay, it had nothing to do with you, I’m a federal agent, piecing things together is my job! She can’t possibly blame you, if anything she’s given it away, she was the one I heard yelling!”

Barclay had stopped listening burying his face in his hands. “Oh… no no no no no,” he groaned to himself, “If you tell anyone about this everyone in this Lodge will be-”

“_Barclay,” _Stern said again, and touched the side of his face. Silence fell around them again, and he spoke in a whisper. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”  
Barclay nodded, tears building up in his eyes, and this time he really believed him. He let out a slow breath, and drained the rest of his drink as Stern pulled his hand away. They still stood close. “You can’t tell anyone else you know,” and before Stern could cut him off, he insisted, “And I don’t mean the FBI, I mean the people at the Lodge. Poor Jake’s been watching every movie he could think of about… how your governments treats things it doesn’t understand, and I know he’s been having nightmares. Dani looks like she’s ready to bolt and Aubrey’s the only thing that’s stopping her, even Moira’s got a suitcase packed.” He looked down, biting his cheek, “They don’t wanna live in a white room, Joe. They’re terrified.”

Stern gave a pained look, his hands facing out by his side, gesturing helplessly. “I didn’t want that,” he explained, “Had I known-”

“I know,” Barclay answered. ‘

This time it was Stern’s turn to back up towards his drink and have a hearty swig of it. His face remained contorted in confusion and sorrow, staring off into space and shaking his head. “Barclay, I’m… I’m so sorry. All this time I’ve been talking this big game about being the one to protect things I don’t understand and everyone here’s been… been petrified.”  
“You were doing your job, it’s not your fault,” Barclay persuaded him, “But I want you to know, before you start to get… anxious,” he lowered his voice, looking around for anyone who was eavesdropping through the window to the lobby, “What attacked you wasn’t one of us. It’s from somewhere else. We’re not… like that.”

It was clear Stern hadn’t considered that, as he creased his eyebrows, glancing down at his leg. “Are we… being invaded?”

“Not in the conventional sense, but it’s being taken care of. The Earth isn’t in danger, I’ll just say that. Please, don’t tell anyone about that either. The more people in Kepler, the worse things will be for us.”  
Stern nodded, a focused excitement coming into his face. He leaned against the counter. “Can I ask… what planet you’re from? I mean… why-why are you all here?”  
“I can’t give you any details, but uh, we mean you no harm, and all that…” Barclay assured him, “I’ve already told you way, way too much and, um… I want you to know that I am… I am so sorry and I obviously understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore…”

“ _ What?”  _ Stern demanded. Incredulously, he laughed.

“What?” Barclay mimicked.

“I just…” Stern said, a grin spread across his face. He laughed to himself again at the irony of the situation. Though he hated to laugh at such a precarious situation, he couldn’t help it. The fact that Barclay had been using  _ this  _ as the reason they couldn’t be with each other was just made amusing when it was considered that what had happened since he’d come to Amnesty was a near word-for-word remake of a story he’d written in highschool based on an active fantasy he’d relieved almost a hundred times, one he’d later received a D on in English class because it was ‘off-topic’ and ‘not an essay’ and ‘had nothing to do with deciduous wildlife’. Where most boys his age had a picture of Ferah Fawcett or Madonna he had a picture of Worf from Star Trek. He thought ‘Shape of Water’ was the best movie of the decade. “This is so, so,  _ so…  _ not a problem for me.”

“We literally, like, did it and you don’t even know what I am or what I look like,” Barclay stated, awed. “I could be like, a giant… squid monster or something.”

“Are you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Because that’s fine if you are.”

“_How is that fine?!” _Barclay hissed, “No - I am - no, I’m not a squid monster, but how the Hell are you just completely on board with that?!”  
“I…” Stern began, and struggled to choose the right words. He eventually just shrugged and said, “I think you are a good _person_… and I… love…_” _It was clear he struggled to get over those words, his face going pink. He abandoned the last word, assuming it didn’t need to be said. “And I don’t see how… _appearances _should change that.”

“That’s - something you say about like a birthmark or-or a disfiguration, I’m  _ literally  _ an eight foot-” he stopped himself short, slapping a hand over his mouth and kicking himself for his stupidity. Stern leaned back against the counter, keeping his face steady.

“An eight foot what?” he asked, distinctly out of breath. Barclay creased his eyebrows, eyes narrowing in awe.

“Are you…” he began, voice hushed as if he was swearing, “Are you… turned on right now?”  
“No,” Stern lied, then quickly amended with a guilty grimace, “A little.”  
“Dammit, Joe,” he whispered, head falling back into his hands, but a small smile was flickering at the corner of his lips. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really not helping, am I?” Stern confessed.

“I’m trying to make things  _ less  _ sexy, you’re supposed to be disgusted right now, or… or betrayed, creeped out,  _ something.”  _

Stern creased his eyebrows. “After everything I told you, you… couldn’t have thought I’d really think that, did you?” he asked, “The whole point is to discover new things. I… love new things. Whatever it is you look like… is fine.” He then winced, something occurring to him. “Hm…” he said aloud, and attempted to put together how to phrase it.

“What?” Barclay asked lowly.

Stern swallowed, worry slowly starting to spell out on his face. He picked up his glass. “Nothing,” he said.

“I can see you wanna ask me something, spit it out,” Barclay insisted, “I may not be able to answer but you may as well ask.”

Stern winced. “Okay, stupid question…” he said, his voice distinctly uncomfortable, “When we, you know, the other night… you didn’t… there’s no chance of… I mean, I won’t…” Uneasily he placed a hand on his abdomen. Understanding, Barclay’s eyes popped out of his head.

“No!” he exclaimed, “No, no no no, no no no… no. No chance, not how it works.”

Stern sighed a breath of relief. “Okay good,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s - it’s the same where I’m from, men and women only, what we did won’t have… any effect, nothing like that. God, no, I wouldn’t do that to you, no. No, for sure, no.”  
“Thank you, cause I try to be pretty open minded but that would have just been… just been a lot, from where I’m standing,” he explained. 

“No, yeah, I totally get it, but uh, no, there’s no chance of that, I promise,” he assured him. 

“I… appreciate that,” Stern said, relief clear in his face, “As - as long as that’s not a factor, though, I really… if… if that’s the only reason we can’t be together, it’s… it’s not a reason at all to me.”

Barclay grimaced. “It’s not that simple,” he said, “If Mama found out about it, Hell, if she found out what I told you here tonight…”  
“You didn’t tell me anything, I figured it out myself,” Stern insisted, and Barclay went on over him.

“If she found out what I told you I wouldn’t be welcome in Amnesty Lodge anymore, and I don’t have anywhere else in the world. This is my home. I can’t risk leaving it,” he told him genuinely. Stern winced, but nodded.

“I understand,” he mumbled bitterly. He looked out towards the Lodge, seeing how peaceful it was this time of night. The sun had set by now and the evening was ticking away, the blue moonlight streaming in through the massive windows across dark wooden tables. It was so serene, so beautiful. Like it had out at the stream, his chest ached for it. But he knew he was like a splinter in this incredible place - not only did he not belong, he made everything worse. And again he whispered it softly, but this time it was in reference to something else. “I understand…”

Barclay nodded. “Good,” he said. There was a moment between them in the quiet, where they were both almost impossibly tempted to reach forward for just that one more kiss. That one more touch. That one more second. Neither did, letting the silence stretch on and on. 

Stern swallowed. “So in the end we’re in the same place we’ve started,” he said, “We can’t be friends and we can’t stop talking…”

Barclay took in a long breath, and then let it out. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, “We’ll sleep on it. In separate rooms this time.”

“Yeah,” Stern said, and there was a despondent quality to his voice. He already had the answer. Yet he went on, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.” He took in a breath. “Can I just ask you one more thing?” he asked.

“Sure,” Barclay answered.

“The night I was attacked. Someone saved me. A big sort of… ape-like being, eight or nine feet tall and covered in fur. Were they one of yours?”  
Tears rushed upwards into Barclay’s throat, threatening to spill out of his eyes as his shoulders fell. In a hushed voice he answered, “Yeah, I know them.”

Stern nodded. “I know you can’t tell me who it is. But… would you thank them for me sometime?”  
Barclay whispered, for fear that his voice would crack. “Yeah,” he said. 

With that classic, crooked smile, Stern seemed to swell, Barclay’s chest fluttering at the sight. “Thanks,” he said. “Goodnight, Barclay.”

“Goodnight Joe.” And turning around, he headed back to his room.


	7. The Wide, Wide World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Stern leaves Amnesty Lodge without a word, the rest of the Lodge celebrates that they can feel safe again. Barclay, on the other hand, begins to feel discontent with his own life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYYYYYY MOTHERFUCKERS BET YOU THOUGHT I GAVE UP ON THIS ONE!!! i like this fic so im doing it again. who knows, maybe ill actually get to the end
> 
> also, fun fact: i started this fic immediately after having my wisdom teeth removed, so the name of the google doc its on is still 'hhhhhh mouth hurtie'. 
> 
> dont forget to leave a comment!!!!!!!!!!!!

By the morning, Agent Stern was gone. There was no note, not even a sign of his presence, his bags having been completely packed with everything he brought and his bed perfectly made. It took Barclay two days to know he had gone, though he worried for much more of it. Finally, after seeing none of him, he could take no more but to check out his room, and upon seeing it he thought he had entered the wrong one, entered one that was totally unused. An ache in his chest he scoured every corner for a letter, a sign,  _ something.  _ But there was nothing. Just like that, he had left Amnesty Lodge for good.

In the sterile room Barclay stumbled back onto the bed, laid out like it was for a guest. The kitchen was immaculate, the remote for the TV in the drawer in the bedside table, everything untouched, unused. All signs of him had gone, and all that was left of him was in Barclay’s memory. He let out a shaking breath of something caught between unsurmountable relief and unbelievable sorrow, and tears soon followed in rivers. 

On the morning of the third day, Barclay gathered everybody in the lobby early in the morning, including Mama. Curiosity buzzed in the newly sunny room, as well as some tiredness and irritation, as people in their pajamas rubbed their eyes. They were all still wearing their disguises, though soon, they wouldn’t have to. Barclay stood up at the head of the room when everyone was there, and made a valiant effort to force a smile.

“Alright, Barclay what’s this about?” Mama asked, crossing her arms from a table near the back.

“Don’t worry, everyone, it’s uh, it’s good news!” he said, though he was far from meaning it, “The FBI Agent, Agent Stern… he’s gone home!” A murmur ran through the room, eyebrows shooting up and jaws dropping, “He couldn’t find enough evidence, so he’s decided to call it a cold case. Amnesty Lodge is safe again!”  
At that final line, the whole room let out a wild round of applause, and necklaces, bracelets, and glasses were whipped off as the room exploded into the true forms of almost everybody in the lodge. But Barclay noticed that Aubrey, though she was expressing excitement to Dani, was giving him a sympathetic look, and Mama wasn’t cheering at all. As chatter filled up the room people started rising from their seats, patting each other on the shoulders and hugging each other. Barclay saw this as a chance to sneak out. Today it was raining hard, the air smelling of ozone and the sky a thoughtful gray, thick, cold droplets of water running off of the long arms of the pines. Barclay headed deep into the forest, to somewhere near the place the monster had attacked, and settled his back down against the tree, letting the water run along his clothes and into his hair. He breathed slow, but he didn’t cry. He didn’t much feel like crying again. He could feel all around him the love of the forest that had taken him in, the Monongahela pines whispering little comforts to him as they swayed in the wind. He shut his eyes, letting the wind brush by him and the sound of everything else fall completely away. He’d never see him again, he knew that - there was no reason he would. But he was safe. No white rooms, he thought. No more danger. 

A moment later he heard a set of footsteps coming from behind him, and he turned. There was Mama, in a long brown duster with her hair a bit frizzy in the humid air. She didn’t look at Barclay, eyes set thoughtfully outward as she sat down beside him. “How you doing?” she asked him. 

Barclay shrugged. “It... hurts,” he confessed thoughtfully, just barely over the patter of the rain around him. Mama nodded sagely.

“Are you bitter towards me for telling you to leave him?” she asked, and she meant it as a genuine question. Because he knew she wanted a real answer, Barclay told her the truth. The fact of the matter was there was some child in him screaming out against her, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“Yes,” he confessed, “I know it’s not rational.”

“None of it’s rational, it’s love,” Mama answered, “It don’t got to be rational, and you’ve got every right in the world to be as angry as you like. It’s not fair. All you been through…” she shook her head, “You got dealt a shit card, Barclay, I won’t lie to you.”

He nodded, not quite in a place to disagree. He gritted his teeth for a moment, thinking. “You know… he knew?” he asked.

“Knew what?”

“About us,” Barclay said, then quickly added, “I didn’t tell him! And he… didn’t know much, just that we weren’t, you know, human. He pieced it together on his own.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Mama asked coolly.

“I just found out a day or two ago, after we talked he came to talk to me,” he admitted, and shook his head. “I told him that everyone here was scared of him, and he looked… so helpless to it. He loved this place. He loved me. But for their sake, he left.”

Mama considered this, sympathy revealing itself on her face. “Did he?” she asked, and Barclay nodded. “I tell you, he sounds like a damn fine man. Can’t help but wonder who else I know who felt like he had to hide away because people were afraid of him.”

Barclay looked up at her. When she had found him, he had been barely managing to survive in a cave out on his own. He’d spent some time, of course, making a ruckus, fighting the humans, surviving on his own. But soon the jeers were too much, the shame was overwhelming, and he knew that on this planet he had no choice but to do more harm than good. She’d found him totally alone, feeling useless and embarrassed. If he could have left Earth behind, he would have, and just as wordlessly and cleanly as Stern had left Amnesty Lodge. He said nothing in response to her, letting the comparison mull in his mind for a few seconds longer. 

“I hope you don’t just see me as some bitter disney step-mom sort of figure,” she said, “I don’t just want to see things in black and white, I know they’re not black and white. But I hope that you can see that in the long run this is gonna be a good thing. We’re safe again. Hell, whether we were in danger or not we  _ feel  _ safe again, and that’s almost as good,” she explained, and then added, “I’m sorry this place isn’t open to him. It’s nothing against the man. It’s what he stands for, and you know full well what that is.”

Barclay nodded slowly again. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “Mama, you don’t have to tell me twice, I wanted him gone from day one. I know that this is better for the Lodge and I know that this will make things easier for everyone. It just… hurts,” he explained helplessly, tears catching in his throat.

Mama laid a hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently. “It won’t always,” she promised, though it was somewhat hard to believe. “You coming back to the Lodge?”  
“Not tonight,” Barclay answered, “Not for a while at least. I need some time alone.”  
She nodded, and then stood up. She turned around, leaving him alone with nothing but the rain and the smell of autumn air beneath the rising sun. 

Two months passed, and the vibrant oranges and reds of autumn gave way to a chilling white winter, with layers of snow like cake built up on the pines. The air was chilling and the moon hung heavy and massive in the sky, looking down on Amnesty Lodge with an icy blue light. In the time that passed, Amnesty began to breathe again, and there was a life that came back so perfectly along with the change of seasons one could imagine all the liveliness and vibrancy of the summer forest slipping into the Lodge and leaving the land outside cold and dormant. People walked around in their true forms. Tired smiles that were too loving to be mad followed Jake Coolice, whose every sentence was about skiing or snowboarding. Dani had broken out her winter wardrobe, thicker beanies and comfortable brown coats, though she hardly needed it, what with Aubrey making the two of them a bonfire to hold each other by every night in some new spot in the forest. Moira had started smiling again, which was rare for her, as she added some new vigor to those ancient Christmas classics on the piano and made them sound brand new. Winter always made Mama ache, though. “When there ain’t no birds and plants to jot down Thacker had no choice but to come in and spend a little time with me,” she’d explained a few years back. “I used to set that man up by the fire and tell him ‘next time you come in frozen, I ain’t gonna thaw you back out again’, and he’d always say ‘Hell, no one asked you to Maddie’…” That was where she’d always smiled, sorrow in her eyes, and taken a moment to go back downstairs and see the shell of the man she cared about so much. Barclay felt for her. But even she seemed to be feeling the effects of Stern being gone. She held her head less, smiled over her coffee more. 

This winter, though, Barclay ached right along with Mama, and for reasons that were somewhat similar. He found that the symptoms of his mourning were not as simple as he thought he’d be. He’d set himself up for a brief depression - long days inside, slacking on hygiene, the whole nine yards. To his surprise, however, he found that as winter drew on he couldn’t sit still. Where he used to be able to sit for hours in Amnesty Lodge, satisfied by the light pouring through the windows, the panes of glass now felt to him as a barrier, one that needed crossing. Barclay could hardly stand to stay inside and cook, he spent every moment running outside. He began climbing trees, going all the way to the top and looking over Kepler. It looked so small from there, the wind rushing cold and high through his hair, ground so far beneath him. And yet, his eyes didn’t linger on the town. They wandered further, out towards the line of gold where the blue horizon met the deep green rows of trees and distant mountains. The outside world - the place, so foreign to him now, where Kepler’s borders stopped. 

The other people in the lodge began to notice how rarely he was idle. Soon enough every mindless T.V. show that used to keep him in the same place for hours had grown stale, and after five minutes he was up on his feet again. The amount of cookies, cakes, souffles, and all manner of other delicious things that had built up in the cabinets and fridge were enough to give everyone in the town of Kepler diabetes. Nevertheless, he went on. He hummed to himself in the kitchen, pressing the dough of a new batch of something delicious under his palms. His focus had an intensity to it, his thoughts racing. It was three A.M., and he couldn’t sleep, so he’d made up a pie crust. He didn’t even know what kind of pie he intended to make - he had been acting outrageous lately, he knew that, but he didn’t feel he had much of a choice. 

Barclay had been thinking about things a lot since Stern had left, things he didn’t expect. Thinking about Silvane and Earth and the place he fell between them. Thinking about where he was as opposed to where he wanted to be. More than anything, he thought about that horizon incessantly, as though it held just as much beauty as that crooked, midwestern smile of the man he missed so dearly. 

Mama hadn’t been sleeping well either, but she never did this time of year. Nightgown falling around her feet, hair frizzing out around her, she stumbled into the kitchen, wincing at the lights which, to her surprise, were already on. Barclay didn’t notice her presence, engaged in his work. “Barclay?” she muttered, sleep still in her voice. Barclay looked up to see her, wide awake.

“Mama,” he said, sounding mildly surprised, “What are you doing up?”

“I’m getting a glass of water,” she said, “You?”  
“Making a pie,” he said, as if it were a perfectly reasonable time of the night to be doing so.

Mama didn’t answer him, and instead, headed to the fridge and opened it. It was stuffed to the brim with home cooked meals and baked goods, a ziploc bag of biscotti threatening to fall out as she pulled the door open. Her head fell, chin hitting her chest. “Oh, it’s worse than I thought,” she whispered, and then closed the cabinet again, “I tell ya, if your coping mechanism wasn’t so damn delicious, I’d tell you to get a therapist right about now.”

“I’m not coping,” Barclay assured her, turning towards the cabinet the pots were stored in. He hunted through, filling the air with the sound of clanging metal before withdrawing a pie tin and setting it down on the counter, “I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah, what kind of pie is that?” Mama asked him. 

Barclay raised his eyebrows. “A… rhubarb meringue?” he said, and only realized how terrible it sounded after it left his mouth. He winced, “Alright, so maybe I’ve been… thinking about things,” he admitted. 

“Things like Agent Stern?” she asked. A look of sadness briefly came over Barclay’s face like a shadow, before it was gone, and his focus was on his dough as he began to line the pie tin. 

“That’s part of it,” he sighed. 

“Go on, then, what’s on your mind?” Mama asked him, “I know you’re thinking about more than that fella, you haven’t been able to sit still for the past month. You’ve got cabin fever like I’ve never seen, what’s going on with you?”

Barclay swallowed and sighed, thinking of how to phrase what had been relentlessly running through his head. “I was thinking about Silvane,” he admitted. She nodded knowingly.

“Yeah, well… that’s a door long behind you, I’m afraid.”

“No - Mama - I know that,” he said, shaking his head, “But I was thinking, if, by some miracle, I could go back. Live the way I used to live… would I? And I… I don’t think I would.” He had repeated and justified this concept to himself at least a hundred times in the past two months, yet to say it aloud still felt somewhat blasphemous. “I mean, I romanticize it, yeah, but if I look at it realistically, I mean… I had a boyfriend who I was thinking about breaking up with anyway, my relationship with my family was strained at best… and yes, I miss the crystal and the land and the people of my home, but at the same time… when it came right down to it it wasn’t a planet, it was a city. I mean I heard stories from my parents but for as long as I was alive my _world _was… well, about the size of Kepler,” he explained. He turned around and leaned against the counter behind him, abandoning the pie crust for a moment and rubbing his hands off on his apron. “Then I came to Earth and… yeah, I spent a lot of it terrified, I’m not gonna lie. But again, looking at it objectively, all people ever did was talk to me and try to understand me, I just assumed because they were aliens that they wanted me dead or locked up in a white room somewhere… Then I came to Amnesty Lodge and I found something that was more home than I had ever known. I love this place, these stars, this forest, a-and every human I’ve come in contact with I’ve either formed a deep connection with or completely… fallen in love with,” he admitted bashfully, looking down, “I spent so much of my time missing an idealized version of home that I never appreciated that… the Earth is so… beautiful. And Mama, it’s… it’s so big!”  
Understanding slowly spelled itself out on Mama’s face. “You don’t wanna go back to Silvane,” she said, “You just wanna get out of the nest.”

Barclay looked at her guiltily. He turned back around as if to work on his pie, then didn’t his hands falling beside it as he leaned over the counter. “Mama, I… I fell in love with Agent Stern in a month and I fell in love with Amnesty Lodge in a week. I need to know if I can fall in love with the rest of this world too.”

Mama smiled sadly, her eyes still tired and downcast, “Hell, I was starting to think you were a bit old to live in your mama’s basement,” she said jokingly, and Barclay chuckled quietly. 

“If you need me to stay-” Barclay began.

“No, you need to go,” Mama insisted, “I can see it in you, this place is driving you up the wall.” She looked at him intently, her voice taking on an even more maternal tone than usual, “You stay safe. Keep your disguise on, even if you don’t like wearing it, don’t get too cocky just because you’re a stupid teenager with a boyfriend.”

“Mama, I’m pushing forty!” Barclay answered.  
“Yeah, well, still,” she said. Barclay looked at her apologetically, struggling to say goodbye to her in the right way. She did so instead, laying a hand roughly on his shoulder, “Will you quit looking at me like I’m gonna start crying? I ain’t a rich suburban mom and you ain’t a kindergartener getting on the bus. As long as you stop back into the Lodge from time to time, old Mama will do just fine on her own.”

Barclay nodded. “Promise me you’ll tell me if Thacker… well, if anything changes. I’ll get a cell phone and call you so you can have my number.”

Mama smiled, a pain lingering in her eyes. “I promise,” she said. “But you know if you leave without saying goodbye, you’ll break poor Jake’s heart!”  
“I would never!” Barclay said, “I’ll leave tomorrow, make sure to say a big goodbye, I swear!”  
“Damn right you will,” she said, “By the way, your new FBI boyfriend may not be welcome here most of the time but if he ain’t got a place to stay for Christmas, I suppose this place could make an exception.”

Barclay had no answer to that other than to wrap his arms tight around her, burying his face into her shoulder. Euphoria rushed up through him from his gut, a real, genuine smile exploding from his lips for the first time in months. “Thank you, Mama,” he whispered to her, lifting her effortlessly up off the ground.

Mama held him back. Tears approached her eyes, though they were indiscernible in her voice. “Hey,” she whispered, “What am I here for?”


	8. Back To Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern falls into a depression when he returns to his apartment in DC, dreading the complications that come with his family Christmas. Barclay goes to a job interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hows everyone doing!!! i dont have anything to say but hang in there, drink water, go outside from time to time, all that. oh, and read lots and lots of fanfiction! preferably mine, but also not mine, if it suits you. unless of course that makes you depressed in which case what are you doing here???? LEAVE
> 
> as for the rest of you, enjoy and comment!!

Stern, after all that had happened, made his way quickly back to his apartment in DC, and unlike Barclay his disappointment did not manifest in climbing trees and baking pies. As a matter of fact, his apartment, previously pristine and rather Spartan in decoration, had began to grow somewhat cluttered, as he gradually lost the motivation to keep up every little crook and corner. He didn’t sleep at night and spent all of his days wishing he could go to sleep, and the people he typically made a distinct instinct to be thoughtful and considerate to he had been snapping at more and more. He’d had a bottle of smooth red wine on his shelf for as long as he could remember - it was finished halfway through November.

Of course, Barclay couldn’t take all the credit for his emotional state. Winter was hard - it had always been hard. First of all, it was hard for the typical reasons, those being it was cold and dreary and colorless and  _ miserable.  _ Just because seasonal depression was common didn’t mean it didn’t still kick you in the ass, and having to put on a coat every time you stepped outside is certainly pretty good at making one a hermit. But it wasn’t just that. Winter meant  _ Christmas  _ and Christmas meant all the bullshit that surrounded it. Stern groaned to think about it. This Christmas, like every Christmas, he’d get a call from his brother who’d say dad wanted to talk to him, though he didn’t know what about (he of course did, it was the same every year), he’d call his dad, get no answer, get a call from mom. His mom would distract from the subject by asking about a girlfriend and he would respond “I don’t have a girlfriend mom, we’ve been over this, I’m  _ gay,”  _ and she would ask why he _ always _ insisted on making things about himself. She’d hang up, brother calls back, ‘what’s going on between you and mom?’, brother sides with mom, big fight. Stern would start crying and try dad again, no response, mom would call back and tell him that if he was willing to start acting  _ reasonable  _ and think about starting a  _ family  _ he could come to Christmas dinner. Stern would shatter something ceramic and end up staying home to watch bad Hallmark movies.

It had been the same for the past six years and yet it seemed to hurt him just as much every single time. Maybe this year dad would pick up, he always convinced himself, but it never really happened. It was early December, and his brother normally called somewhere between the first and the fifteenth. Any time now, and it would all start. And amidst all the stress and dread Barclay seemed to wander through every piece of his life. Being alone, he discovered, was comprised of a lot of factors. Emotional support, such as sharing feelings with one another, physical intimacy, sexual intimacy, as well as the good old fashioned reliability that would lead someone to make you eggs and help you out to the stream when you were hurt. Stern had been doing well enough without all these things for years, but to have it offered in just a taste and then yanked away left him reeling and stumbling. All of the sudden he felt bitter doing everything for himself, isolated and untouched, not to mention, admittedly, more sexually frustrated than he’d been since he was a closeted sixteen year old. In every facet of his life all he saw was Barclay, Barclay, Barclay. And the cruelest part was he couldn’t tell anybody about it even if they  _ would  _ listen. 

It was a lot of nights of staring at the opposite wall, curled up on his couch and feeling the pressure of his thoughts against his brain. He’d bought a houseplant, as he had many winters before to keep some life around him when everything else was snow, but this one, by the end of November, knew more about his personal life than anyone in his life. “It was the whole package,” he’d tell it, staring at the ceiling like he was on a therapy sofa, “In a beautiful forest away from the world, filled with real life actual aliens, one of whom was in love with me or _said _he was in love with me, for all I know, he was just lying to get me to leave… either way I loved him. And I couldn’t have it. Any of it. What if that was the only time I get any of that? What if I’m just… made to be alone?”  
The plant, its long green leaves arching up gracefully toward the ceiling, said nothing. 

It was on December twelfth that the fateful phone call finally came in. Stern was home, luckily, at six on a very cold, very dark night with the T.V. playing some show he wasn’t really paying attention to. He looked to his phone going off, and saw the contact ‘Mike’ show up on the screen. Dread hit him like a cannonball. “No, come on, no,” he groused to himself. He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes as he let the phone ring. He’d have to pick it up sometime, he told himself, and swallowing his anxiety he picked it up. “Hey Mike,” he greeted coolly.

“ _ Hey Joe, how are ya? _ ”

_ Like you really want to know.  _ “Fine. Do you need something?”

“ _ Well, I em…”  _ Mike Stumbled. He had a voice similar to Stern’s but a bit deeper, a bit less lilting. He sounded a bit dejected at the speed of the request, but not altogether surprised. “ _ I think dad wants to talk to you about something. He, uh, wants you to call the house, call him or mom, maybe. _ ”

“Mike, I haven’t talked to dad in years, I know he doesn’t want to talk to me, why are you doing this?” Stern demanded into the phone, getting up and beginning to pace back and forth.

“ _ Well… I mean, I don’t know what to tell you, he said he wanted to talk to you, so… _ ”

“But - but he doesn’t, I know he doesn’t… Mike, can we just not do this shit this year, please? I know I’m not welcome at Christmas, I don’t see why you have to-”

“ _ Who told you you’re not welcome at Christmas?” _

Stern sputtered. “Mom, every year!”  


“_Now, mom - listen to me - mom just wants you to do something for the family, okay? Everytime you come to the house, you’ve - you know - you’ve been bringing some sort of drama with you! She wants you to do well, she wants you to grow, why can’t you just accept that?”__  
_

“Oh, I’m bringing drama, okay, I’m so sorry I don’t want to listen to dad talk about how someone ought to beat me with a bible!” Stern said, his voice raising. His brother remained cool and collected.

“ _ Okay, now, he never said that, what’s gotten into you, I just said he wanted to talk to you, that’s all.” _

“What’s gotten into me, Mike, is that I don’t want to do this anymore! I’m tired of going through this dance like you’re being so nice by giving me the chance to change myself to I’m welcome at family dinners, I’m not doing it, I never have and I never will!”  


“ _ We’re not asking you to change yourself, Joe, we’re just asking that you play by mom and dad’s rules when you’re in their house, alright, is that so hard? _ ”

“I did not come out at nineteen years old to have it swept under the rug until I was thirty-two, alright?!” he shouted, “I am _gay, _Mike!”  


“ _ I don’t see why you’re yelling at me all of the sudden, I’m trying to give you a chance to come home for Christmas, alright? _ ” Mike argued lowly, “ _ And as for all this stuff I’m starting to think you’re doing it just to prove a point. _ ”

Anger bubbled up in Stern’s gut. “To prove a  _ point?!”  _ he demanded, his voice switching from a reasonable volume to an objectively unreasonable one. He gestured wildly into the air with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. “I did not miss out on my highschool years to  _ prove a point _ , I did not  _ hate myself _ for all of my twenties when all my friends were out at parties to  _ prove a point _ , and I did not fall in love with the most wonderful, caring man I’ve ever known, find a place I would have been loved and accepted, and then  _ leave my only chance of romance in my life behind _ just for you and our fucking bastard parents to tell  _ me  _ that I fell in love to  _ prove a point!”  _ he shrieked. When he was finished his throat was sore and his cheeks were wet, and remorse was already carving its way into his chest. On the other end of the line was silence.

“ _ Joe, what- _ ” he finally began, “ _ Did something happen, did-did you have a breakup recently? _ ”

Stern swallowed, hastily wiping tears from his eyes. “Like you care,” he scoffed.

“ _ I do care! _ ” Mike insisted, “ _ Listen, Joe, I… I do my best to find a middle ground between how… you live your life and how mom and dad live theirs, but I don’t want that to come off as not… respecting your feelings and your life choices… _ ”

Stern scoffed again, disappointed.

“ _ Life… not choices, whatever, that’s not the point. I don’t want you to think that you can’t come to me about this stuff. _ ”

“Oh, yeah, you say that now, but I’m still not welcome at Christmas, is that right?”

“ _ You are welcome at Christmas, you’ve always been welcome at Christmas! All I ask is that you keep the parts of your personal life that mom and dad don’t like under reps for that one day, alright, one day,”  _ Mike insisted.

“Mike, I’m not going back in the closet, I’m not doing it.”

“ _ I’m not asking you to go back in the closet, I’m just asking you not to talk about it for Christmas. _ ” 

Stern pinched the bridge of his nose. “So just… be someone else at my own house. For Christmas, just pretend I have a girlfriend I don’t have and… what?”

“ _ I’m not asking you to pretend you have a girlfriend, I’m just saying not to bring it up. _ ”

“And when mom brings it up?”  


“_Well you - you tell her what she wants to hear!_ _Listen, I’m trying my best to get you to a place where you’re welcome again, what else do you want me to do?”__  
_

“I want you to stand up to mom and dad,” he said distinctly. 

“ _ Hey, listen, I’m not gonna try to change you but I’m not gonna try to change them either-” _

“Alright, well, while you’re having fun not picking sides and pandering to our closed-minded parents-”

_ “Joe, come on-” _

“While you’re pandering to our closed-minded parents, I’ll be celebrating Christmas with people who like me as I am!” With that he pulled the phone away from his ear and violently hung up, throwing his phone aside and burying his face in his hands. It occurred to him that what he’d said wasn’t exactly a lie - he  _ would  _ be spending Christmas with people who liked him as he was - which was nobody at all. 

Stern skipped to the end of the Christmas rigamarole, marching up to the coffee table beside the couch and furiously swiping the ceramic lamp sitting on it onto the floor, watching as it shattered on the hardwood floor. 

_  
_   
Barclay had spend the first several years of his life on Earth, running, hiding, and living in caves in the fairly traditional sense. He didn’t actually figure out how to make a human disguise until a good long time into it, and even after he did he only really used it for occasional instant disguises in tight situations. It wasn’t long stretches of being undercover or making reputations from town to town - the closest he’d ever gotten to a human before Mama was a woman he’d known for a total of two days. After that, all he’d been found by Mama, explained his situation, and lived the rest of his life in Amnesty Lodge. In what was almost a decade on Earth, Barclay shockingly had absolutely no experience with the real human world. He had no idea how to go about getting an apartment, no understanding of social graces, and no idea what a ‘job interview’ was. But he saw a sign in a diner that said ‘HELP WANTED’ and walked in, and now he was sitting at a desk in front of a woman with tired looking eyes. He tapped his fingers against the table, terrified. 

“So, Mr…” she began.

“Cobb!” Barclay answered. He had prepared in the car that he would behave as Mama’s son - that would answer some questions about a wandering vagabond that came from an alien planet at least. “Barclay Cobb! I am here for the… job.”  
She creased her eyebrows. She was a tough looking woman, muscular but slim with dark hair and blue eyeshadow. “Yeah, I figured… Name’s Tiff, by the way.” she said, “Do you have any past experience?”  
“Um, no, I mean, wait, yes, I was the chef at a lodge for six years. I have a number you can call who’ll tell you I’m not lying,” he said desperately.

“A reference?” she asked.

“Yes!” Barclay said passionately. “Yeah, a reference, that.”

“Ok, that’s good. What Lodge is it?”  


“Um, it’s uh… well, it’s… Do you need a resume, I-I made one.”

She chuckled. “I don’t… need your resume, I’m sure you’re telling the truth,” she told him, “Alright, we’ll start you off washing dishes, make sure you’re reliable, and then I’m sure we can bump you up. We’ve been desperate for a new line cook, if you can flip a burger I’m sure it won’t take long.”

Barclay raised his eyebrows. “So I have the job? Just like that?” he asked, in disbelief. All the research he’d done involved twenty-point lists about how to best shake people’s hands and what to put on your resume. He’d been expecting at least another week of terrified bureaucracy.

“Yeah! You can start up on Monday. I’ll have Joey show you the ropes.” She stood up and Barclay followed, jumping to his feet.

“I won’t let you down!” he said excitedly. She laughed to herself.

“Alright, well that’s… good to know.”


	9. In The City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay makes a friend and gets used to his life in the city. Stern prepares for the family baggage around Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lets! go! thotties!!
> 
> so it is hot as HECK here in CT and if any of yall are equator-landers yes i KNOW its 146 degrees where you are and your house has melted into a puddle and your dog has set on fire but 80 IS HOT FOR US OKAY. so anyway thats my excuse for not writing Keyboard Hot Brain Puddle

Tiff was right about one thing - the shift from dishwasher to line cook was fast, especially after Barclay’s talent was discovered. It seemed impossible that he would make something wrong - every burger was just cooked enough, every batch of fries excellently crispy. And he showed up on time every day, if not earlier, and got along with everyone who worked there well enough. While work was good he did still live in his car, which, with the parking in DC, still costed money. He’d lived in worse places, though, and the worst part of it wasn’t the small space or the lack of a shower, it was the fact that he was living on takeout. There were nights he couldn’t take anymore, going eccentrically grocery shopping and sneaking into the diner kitchen and making himself just one good home-cooked meal. But as for the cold and the looks, he was used to them. They didn’t bother him in the slightest. 

At night he would sit in the backseat on his phone, looking up Joseph Stern on every website he could think of. Who would have thought Joseph Stern was such a common name - and it didn’t help that he didn’t know anything else about him at all. What also didn’t help was that he was FBI - it made sense that he wouldn’t have a public appearance on the internet. Still, he kept on looking. It felt a little strange to look so desperately for someone - all he could hope was that Stern would get the right idea. For that night he shut off his phone, flicking off the overhead light in the backseat and calling it a night. It left the car in darkness, dim moonlight pouring out through the windshield and falling on the dashboard, surrounded by the smell of dust and grease. 

When he had made it through what seemed like the entire internet, he switched to something old school - a phone book. There was a tremendously slim chance that he would find anything - after all, did anyone even have a home phone anymore? In the phone book for that area, there were twelve Joseph Sterns, and he called them all, some of them several times until they answered. None of them were him. One did say that he had a son like that, however, and that he would pass his number along. He could very well have been stringing along, since he didn’t provide any information, but it was worth a shot, wasn’t it? 

Barclay went to bed at twelve o’clock that night, tired and dejected. He began to consider what he would do if he never found him. After all, it was a very big world, he thought, looking out the side window to the city around him. It was so big, so intricate, and so… so  _ much.  _ In one block of this city there were as many people and businesses and signs of life as there were in the entirety of Kepler. Frankly, it still baffled him that there was a whole world outside of this city - DC was about the size of Silvaine, and when he shut his eyes and went to sleep it was easy to convince himself that it was all the world. It was a lot to take in, yes… and yet, in a youthful, stupid sort of way, he wanted more. It didn’t matter that he was surrounded by everything he’d ever need - he  _ wanted  _ Stern. He wanted him for hours every night, like he wanted water, like he wanted sleep. 

On the fifteenth, Stern got a call from his mother. This, as always, filled him with dread, and by no means surprised him. Melting angrily into his couch he prepared his speech about why he had every right to talk to Mike the way he did as he picked up the phone. But when she answered, her tone was far more light than he’d expected.

“ _ Hello, Joseph _ !” she greeted vibrantly.

“Hey, mom,” he answered.

“ _ How you doing?” _ _   
_

He sighed at that. “Fine,” he said.

_ “Ok, good, well I’m just calling because your father told me he got a strange call today from someone looking for Joseph Stern, the FBI Agent with the Unexplained Phenomena division. He said to him that he was Joseph Stern but that you were the only Joseph Stern who was an FBI Agent, and he asked for your number.” _

Stern listened with increasing alarm to her description, anxiety mounting more and more with each word she spoke. “Did you give it to him?” he asked, his job voice kicking in.

_“No, he didn’t, because we know you don’t like us giving away your personal information. But were you expecting a call from someone?”__  
_ “Did they give a name?”

_ “Oh, well, I don’t think he had the time! His father told him that we’d put his number through to you and then he hung up. You know how curt your father can be. Anyway, he told us his number was eight-six-zero-” _

“What, mom, I- I don’t want this guy’s number, if I call him he’ll have access to my phone, he’ll be able to trace me,” he said frantically, “Mom, if this guy calls again, hang up, alright?”  
“_Oh, well he seemed perfectly nice, I don’t think he was spying on you or anything, he seemed like he just wanted to talk.”_

“Mom, I-” Stern held the bridge of his nose. It was very possible that this was just someone behaving awkwardly - however, it seemed to make more sense in his industry that this was a hostile move. After all, who called someone’s parent and asked for the number of their son, the FBI Agent. He racked his mind for people he had wronged, before, dread in his chest, a thought occurred to him. Barclay let something slip. The other aliens knew, and didn’t trust him with the information. They had gone out for him, they couldn’t let him get out alive. 

It was a bit of a wild fantasy, he knew, but nevertheless, it frightened him. “Mom, I have to go,” he said rigidly, and before he could hear her objections, he hung up. That was crazy, wasn’t it? Barclay wouldn’t tell. He wouldn’t - and even if he did, the people at the Lodge wouldn’t kill him. Aubrey, Jake, Dani, Moira… Even Mama, he had gotten along with each of them at least functionally. They couldn’t just…kill him. And besides, they couldn’t leave Keplar without risking their lives. It was stupid, he told himself, stupid.

Nevertheless, he stood up to close the blinds.

On the sixteenth of December, Barclay found himself severely tired and disappointed. It was clear by now, at about three in the afternoon, that the number he’d reached didn’t really have a son who was also named Joseph Stern and he didn’t pass any number along. Why he let his hopes raise he didn’t know - either way, his disappointment was clear in his behavior, a downturned face and speechless, routine work in the kitchen. 

Emma, a thin, brunette waitress he had spoken with a few times before, was the only one to point it out - everyone else just went about their work. She leaned against the counter, somewhat in the way, as she often was, and cocked her head.

“What’s the matter, big guy?” she asked. 

Barclay winced, and shrugged. “It’s… sort of hard to explain,” he said.

“It’s fine, hey, I’m all ears. What else am I gonna do, work?” she snorted, and Barclay smiled to himself. He flipped one of the burgers over to its pinker side as he considered how much was worth telling her.

“Well, there was this… guy,” he admitted bashfully.

“Ooh!” 

“Shut up!” he joked back at her.

“Oh, come on, come on! I’ll shut up, I’m listening, I’m being completely serious,” she persisted, moving to the side as an irritated chef reached behind her left shoulder for the salt. 

“We met a little while ago in my sort of… hometown. He couldn’t stay, I felt like I had to, and we split but, um… I decided that I wanted to be with him. So I… came here to find him and let’s just say I haven’t had any luck,” Barclay explained, and pursed his lips. Emma touched her chest.

“Aw! That’s so romantic!” she said, “I’m out there amidst the tables, describe the guy.”

“Oh, come on, I can’t get you in on this.”   


She raised her eyebrows, her brown eyes popping out of her head. “Excuse me, you can’t  _ not  _ get me in on this. I have waited all my life to be a proper yenta, now come on, describe!”   


“A what?”   


“Describe!”   


“Alright, alright!” Barclay said, and put his hands up before lifting a burger off of the grill and sliding it onto a bun. “He’s FBI, which is… probably the first thing you’ll notice about him. Black suit, sunglasses, you know.”

“Ooh, a man in uniform!” Emma said excitedly.

“Short, classic cut, dark brown hair. Light skin, um, caucasian. Hazel eyes, sort of… medium build. He may have a limp a little bit, I don’t know. Other than that he’s… I don’t know, i guess to an outsider he’d be pretty nondescript.” Barclay ended it there, trying desperately not to say all the poetic, lavish praise on the tip of his tongue.  _ A sweet smile that’s higher on one side. The most caring eyes you’ve ever seen. That one little part of his hair that sticks up, no matter what he does to it. The place where his collar meets his collarbones… _

“He sounds like quite a character,” Emma admitted, her chin in the air.

Barclay pursed his lips and nodded. “I guess so,” he said, “And the name is Joseph. Joseph Stern.”

“Ah, well, I’ll keep an eye out, alright, big guy?” she said, and patted him gently on the shoulder. An angry voice came through the chaos.

“Emma, what are you doing in the kitchen!?”

“That’s my cue!” she said, and swiftly snuck out the doors. 

Two days later, the eighteenth, Emma caught a glance at a mysterious man in a suit with brown hair, brown eyes and a frustrated look in his eyes. Immediately she lit up, making the mistake of turning around on her heel and returning to the kitchen. “I saw him!” she’d told Barclay. But Stern knew those cues - he could see from a mile away the way her eyes had locked onto him, the speed with which she turned around. A reminder of his paranoid fantasy came back to his mind and he stood swiftly up, walking right out. By the time Barclay made his way to the door, Stern had gone, without a sign to mark that he was there. 

“Dammit,” Barclay hissed, stepping out of the back door of the kitchen. Emma followed him out into the cold, rubbing her hands together.

“Hey, it’s alright, we’ll get him, we’ll get him!”   


“ _ Dammit!”  _ Barclay said again, pacing furiously back and forth.

“It’s fine! He probably just went out for a call or something.”

Barclay shook his head. “No,” he said, “When you saw him, you just turned around and headed back to the kitchen, didn’t you?”  
She looked down, “Yeah,” she said, “Is that bad?”

“Well, I mean, he won’t be back. He’s FBI. He probably thought you were looking for him.”  
“I was.”

“Yeah but for reasons that weren’t, like… romcom related.”

She considered this for a moment, before her eyes widened and her lips formed an ‘O’ shape. “Barclay, I’m really sorry,” she said.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Barclay sighed, “It was a long shot anyway.”

“Hey, you’ll still find him! It’s fate, you know, if you belong together you belong together! Love can’t be stopped, it’s true! Not even when it’s worlds apart!” Emma encouraged passionately. Barclay chuckled at the irony of the phrase.

“Thanks, Emma,” he said.

“No problem!”   



	10. Friends, New And Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay talks to Emma about the nature of the universe, and finds a new lead on Stern. Meanwhile, the Unexplained Phenomena Division demand a few more answers about Keplar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats up gang!! so, i promised my cousins i would do this, so its just what ill do! I'd like to offer you all a new dnd podcast me and my family has started! It takes place in a fantasy VR world, with dnd races and classes played by all real people on their headsets at home. I really think you guys would like it, it's very similar to taz because most of us are huge fans. please check it out! thank you all! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OK9doBPEi3k&feature=youtu.be

That night it snowed something fierce. Barclay spent the night on the phone with Mama, telling her about his lack of luck. “It’s so much,” he told her, “But it feels good out here. It’s like… there’s something new around every corner.” It was nice that he didn’t have to lie to make her feel better. It was true - he met somebody new every day, and wasted his precious pennies going to new restaurants, museums and dance clubs, bars and meetings of every kind imaginable, and every one of them,  _ every one of them  _ had a different feeling, a different flavor. Nevertheless, by the time he got off the phone with Mama and snow was coming down in buckets he didn’t much feel like going out and taking a walk and watching the neon of the city come on - instead he watched the snow hit the windshield and then slide off under the windshield wipers, and thought about Stern. The sweetness of his kiss, his voice. It had been so long since he had seen his face he could scarcely remember the details, wishing that he had just one picture of that smile to remember him by. But in recalling stern he recalled the Lodge too, and he ached for it. The smell of pine, the sight of home. His family, his friends. Life was fresh and new out here, but it was nothing like what he was used to. Nothing like comfort. He kept home on his mind as he dipped into sleep, dreaming of the creaking pines, the whistling wind.

While Barclay saw this city in all its nooks and crannies, amazed by the wonderment as a child wonders at a garden, Stern saw only one long brick of concrete covered in dirty gray snow. He stared out his window, the T.V. off. He hadn’t eaten dinner that night - it was nothing or packaged ramen, and his self esteem didn’t have the stamina to feel like a broke college student again, not in his thirties, not so close to Christmas. So he stayed hungry for the sake of pride, staring silently as the snow came down heavier and heavier. It would be a bitch to drive in, he told himself. Maybe he wouldn’t go to work tomorrow, he thought, and then considered, and do what? Stay at home? Mope? He didn’t exactly have much of a social life, or a hobby. He shut his eyes, replacing the white and gray with shades of green and brown, and suddenly he was just outside Amnesty again, sitting by the stream. He was kissing Barclay, heart racing face pink, feeling his beard against his face, hands in the grass and the wind in his hair. He then settled deeper into the couch and paused the memory like a T.V., forbidding it from continuing on to the moment of his embarrassment, when Barclay jumped away. Instead he lingered there until he fell asleep, playing the moment over and over until he knew it well enough to write a book about it. Every sound a bird had made, every rustle of the trees, every movement of his hands in that one solitary second. 

But the days went by with little luck for either of them. The winter was bitter cold, and now the city was lighting up in preparation for Christmas. Massive pine trees in the park were covered in lights, people wore mini-antlers and sweaters. Barclay knew about Christmas, and celebrated it back in Kepler. He didn’t know exactly what was being celebrated (something about a guy named Jesus and a guy named Santa, what they had to do with each other he had no idea) but he knew that you gave gifts and made gingerbread cookies and ate a big dinner, which he had always made. But Christmas in the city - that seemed to be something else. Snow lined the sidewalks, and parents lined up in their colorful down coats in front of toy stores, which brilliantly illuminated their train sets and dolls and all manner of things. Everything in this already vibrant town had become red and green and  _ wonderful -  _ But of course, every second of it was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he couldn’t find Stern to save his life. 

As time went on, he had gotten gradually closer to Emma, the waitress from work. She was bright and overly physical, and insisted to Barclay that she ‘knew this city like the back of her hand’, despite getting them lost every time they went out. He didn’t mind getting lost, though. He saw things he’d never seen before every night - that was something that didn’t happen in Kepler. Back there, he hadn’t seen something really new since… well, since Stern. 

It was about 8 PM that they were walking down the streets of DC, sun down, lights up. They had just gotten kebabs from a moving truck - something that made Barclay cynical. How did one cook in a truck. Nevertheless, as they walked, he found that they were expertly done, and reeled back. 

“Wow!” he said, in earnest.

“Good, right?!” asked Emma, “I’ve always loved those dudes. Have you seriously never had food from a truck before, where the fuck are you from?”  
“Town called Kepler, west Virginia,” he answered frankly, pulling another piece of chicken off of the kebab, “I think I’ve told you this like, twelve times.”

She scowled. “Yeah, well, I mean it rhetorically, I mean it like, no offense man, but you must have lived in bum fuck the middle of nowhere and never left if you’ve never eaten from a foodtruck. Didn’t you ever leave?”

“Uh, no, not really,” he said frankly, “My mom had an Inn there, and I helped run it, and only recently did I have… you know, ample cause to go.”  
She gasped, and shoved his arm. “Was the ample cause _Joooeeee?”_

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Well, that was… part of it.”

“Oh my God, you are actually too cute! Big shot FBI agent goes to a middle of nowhere town, meets a handsome young chef, and then the handsome young chef chases him back to the city?! It’s like a romcom, it’s actually perfect.”

_ Do you think the romcom would mention the fact that I was a sasquatch,  _ Barclay asked in his head, but voiced nothing. “Yeah, well, that’s all very optimistic, but that’s if I can ever find him.”

“Oh, you’ll find him.”

“How are you so sure?”  
She grinned, her brown eyes twinkling. “I told you man, it’s fate. If you just want to see him again, then there’s no way to know if you’ll get what you want. But you’re different. You _know _you’ll see him again.” She poked him in the chest, brutally yanking a piece of chicken off her kebab. With a full mouth, she went on, “It’s in the way you talk, the way you look for him. The universe knows that one of the moments you look up you’re gonna see him, and you’re part of the universe, so you know it too. The universe doesn’t lie!”  
Barclay struggled to process that stream of superstition, blinking at what she was saying before really considering it. Maybe it was stupid, he thought. But then again, Silvane had a mind, had an understanding of the world that extended, in a way, to all of her subjects. Who was to say the Earth was any different? Who was to say the images of his lover weren’t whispers from the ground beneath him? He smiled, and Emma elbowed him in the side.

“Hey, that’s what I like to see! And hey, maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe Christmas magic is real.” She finished off her kebab and then gestured with a finger into the night, her other hand tucked tightly in her pocket. “That said! You can’t rely on Christmas magic and the Universe for everything! That’s why I did a little research.”

“Oh?” asked Barclay.

“There’s a bar down here, the Black Dog. Supposedly it’s a hot spot for government work cause headquarters is right next door. We should try it out, see if we can find your man!”

Barclay thought about that, then laughed, stopping in his tracks. “Emma, I don’t know…”

“Come on. What do we have to lose?! Worse comes to worst, we get a couple of drinks, which we were already gonna do anyway! We can ask the barkeep if they know him. Come  _ on!”  _ she tugged on his arm.

“Okay, okay, fine, we can… scope it out, alright. But just once! I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of stalker.”

“Well… you kinda are,” Emma said, now taking hold of his arm in a more affectionate way, “But it’s for the right reasons, so I think it’s fine.”

“Thanks, that’s comforting.”

“You’re welcome!”   


As a matter of fact, they tried the bar not only, but four times over, on four separate nights. They asked the bartender if they knew a man named Stern and they said they’d ask the black ties next time they wandered in. They never got anything back. The fifth time Emma encouraged Barclay to go out, he just decided to head back to his car.

The fact of the matter was, Stern didn’t visit the bars because he wasn’t invited - none of the Unexplained Phenomena division were. The nerds and losers of the FBI, they spent their time in their dinky office with delivered Chinese food and pictures of the Loch Ness Monster on their desks. Even if they did go out, it could never be to the bar staked out by the big boys - Criminal Investigation, or Behavioral Analysis, for instance. And even when they did go out for drinks and their own dinky little bars lately, Stern hadn’t been interested. 

It was the 22nd. Stern was at work with two other people from his division, with Chinese food across the tables. He hadn’t touched his. The room was quiet. Dell, a short, curly-haired person in a sweater vest, spun around in their swivel chair to face Stern.

“Joe,” they said. 

Stern snapped out of a trance. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Do you still have Ned Chicane’s video on file?”

He reeled slightly at the question, a tension running through his body. “Uh… yeah, somewhere, why?”  
Dell winced. “I don’t know. I know you said to drop it but Kepler’s still rubbing me the wrong way.”  
At this point, Sarah turned around from her desk. She wore glasses that took up almost all of her face, and had her long, oily dark hair around her shoulders. “We’re reopening the Kepler case? I thought that was a bust,” she asked. 

“It was,” Stern spoke up, “Look, I’m telling you, the Chicane video was just some good photo-editing. Kepler’s clean, it’s just a middle of nowhere town.”

“Yes but - it’s not just the Chicane video, though,” Dell insisted, “There’s other footage from Chicane’s television show - Saturday Night Dead, he calls it, of people who I can’t find registered anywhere. I run the facial recognition, nothing. Here, take a look.” They reached over to a file on their desk and opened it, laying out pictures in front of Stern one by one - screenshots of people from backgrounds, audience shots, or special guest episodes of Saturday Night Dead. Stern’s stomach lurched.

“Okay, so, this one gets referred to as Jake-”

_ Jake. _

“This one as Dani-”

_ Dani. _

“I-I don’t think this woman here ever gets addressed-”

_ Moira. _

“And this guy, he’s helping one Keith, nicknamed ‘Kirby’ Mathow, behind the camera, they call him, uh, Barclay.”  
_Barclay._

“And- and it’s weird because like, none of these people have  _ any  _ registration anywhere. Like I literally can’t track them down anywhere. I mean, originally we were looking at a bigfoot sighting, but I think this could be something bigger, I think we could be looking at an entire alien organization. You put it together with the Bigfoot sighting, and you figure, this could be a real addition to the pantheon of withheld knowledge, I mean this could break the news wide open.” There was a silence. “Joe?”

Stern was staring down at the picture. It as blurry, pixelated, but even still he recognized those dimples, those soft eyes, the kindness that greeted him and stroked his hair when he was in such pain that night. He hadn’t seen his face in weeks now, not in any pictures, nothing. It left him stunned. 

“Joe, do you know this guy?” Dell inquired excitedly.

“What?” he asked breathlessly, “N-no, I don’t know him.”

The room paused, all eyes on him. 

“What?” asked Stern anxiously.

“Man, are you ever gonna tell us what happened in Kepler?” asked Dell.

Stern readjusted, sliding his swivel chair back under his desk and tearing his eyes away from the picture of Barclay. “I told you, it’s a bust. There’s nothing there.”

Sarah spoke up softly. “You spent a pretty long time there to find that out.”

“Sarah’s right,” Dell said sternly, “Man, whatever happened out there, you can tell us! I know you’re hiding shit, I mean, what happened to your leg, huh? This was supposed to be your big break, you thought this place was the shit, then you go dead, and come back to tell us you spent two weeks at a bust on your own cash? Come on, Joe, tell us the truth, we can take it. Was it aliens? Do they know if you tell us, are they holding you hostage? Blink once for aliens, twice for not aliens!”  
“It wasn’t aliens!”

Dell leaned over to Sarah and whispered, “He blinked once.”

“Dell, I… Look, it really was a bust, I just stuck around because…” he sighed, “Look, if I tell you the real reason, do you promise to keep it between us?”

Both of them nodded. 

“Look,” Stern said intently, “What happened to my leg, first of all, is I was… I was bit by a wolf in the woods, alright?”

Dell reeled back. “Jesus fuck,” they whispered. 

“Joe, you said it was a minor injury!” Sarah objected, “Why didn’t we get a call from the hospital?”

“Well, because I… didn’t exactly go,” confessed Stern. 

Dell looked awestruck. “Joe,” they scolded.

“Listen, middle of nowhere town like Kepler doesn’t even have its own hospital, alright, the paramedics would have taken thirty minutes to get to me, I didn’t have that sort of time. So… I was near to the Inn, and… this guy brought me back and… fixed me up. He must have been a doctor or something, because it’s healed alright. Anyway, he and I…” he contemplated how to finish that sentence, sighing and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “We… made a connection after that, I guess. Made it hard to leave.”  
Sarah smiled, and leaned back in her chair. “Ah,” she said warmly, “You fell in love!”  
“Okay, so are we just gonna drop the wolf thing-” Dell snapped.

Stern ignored them. “I didn’t mean to get involved, but, you know, these things happen. As for why you don’t recognize them… to be honest, they’re perfectly normal humans in a sort of homemade witness protection system of some sort. What exactly they went through or did, I didn’t ask. But a lot of them had had little plastic surgeries, and they’d all changed their names. Kepler was a place to hide. I didn’t tell anyone because I saw no reason to have them… interrogated and obsessed over if they’re trying to be left alone.” He looked at them both one and one, a soft intensity coming over his face. “I hope… that you feel the same way.”

There was a brief pause, before Dell threw up their arms. “Well, fuck me, Joe, I’m not here to go digging around in some small town’s personal business if there’s nothing to see. As for this guy and this… wolf… I don’t see why you have to hide that from us! We support you, man! I mean come on, when are we gonna meet this country hunk, huh?”

Stern’s face hardened. “You’re not,” he snapped, “Why do you think I came back without him?”  
The tone of the room dimmed, and Sarah and Dell exchanged sympathetic looks, before resolving to turn back towards their desks. Then, the door opened, and someone from a different department stepped in - a Behavioral Analysis prep.

“Hey, um, Joseph Stern?” he said. 

Stern looked up. “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to let you know, the other day the Bartender at the Black Dog said someone was looking for you. That they knew you by name, wanted them to let you know if they saw you. Thought you ought to know.” Then, he turned around and shut the door. 

Stern’s mind raced, paranoia rooting in his chest. First the phone call to his father, and now this? It couldn’t be doubted - he was being sought. Perhaps he’d meddled too much for the rest of Barclay’s kind to let him go. Perhaps he’d be a sacrifice at the hands of an alien God, thrown onto the ship by the rest of the Inn. Maybe it was too late - he’d dug too deep.

“What’s that about?” asked Dell, turning away from their work.

Stern didn’t answer, packing up his things, abandoning his desk and hurrying home. 


	11. Outside Sources

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay decides to go to an old acquaintance for help. Stern tries to enjoy a Christmas party. The two lovers grow ever closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats up yall!!!! the big reveal is getting close now........... but im getting ahead of myself. enjoy, leave a comment please!!!
> 
> on a sidenote yall uh. you should probably uh. maybe expect some ace attorney fics bc i may have gotten fully completely obsessed with it. oops. and yes i KNOW i would say id do that about avatar and then left u all hanging on that long shot but ill come back to it someday alright??? im not made of fanfic!!
> 
> anyway. enjoy, leave a comment, love ya!!

Barclay wasn’t proud of this. 

But there was one place he could go to find answers. He still had the number from a few months ago, during the thick of things, assuming it hadn’t changed since then. It wasn’t the most normal way to get back in touch with an old acquaintance… well, an old stranger, really… but it was like Emma said. Fate, right? And besides, it was so close to Christmas. Wouldn’t it be nice if he found him before Christmas? He wasn’t sure why, but he found the idea of locating him after the fact somewhat underwhelming. No - he had a contact, he had to use it. No matter how strange or… potentially creepy it was. He hardened his nerves, looking out through his wind shield at the snowy buildings, and then dialed in the number.

It didn’t even ring before the other end of the line picked it up. 

“ _ Good evening, Barclay. I hear you’ve left the Lodge. _ ”

He blinked at the comment - one Hell of a greeting. He recalled warily that he’d never actually called him from his own phone so there was no way he knew his name from caller I.D. Nevertheless, he chuckled and moved on.

“Uh… hello, Indrid!” he said, “Yes, I… I’m adventuring outside the nest, I suppose! You’d know a lot about that.”

“ _ I most certainly do! And might I wish you, best of luck! It’s a wide, wide world out there. Might I recommend a trip down to Mexico? The weather is heavenly, and the enchiladas are to  _ die _ for!” _

Barclay chuckled. “I’ll have to- I’ll have to do that,” he said, fidgeting with his shirt. “Alright, anyway Indrid, I was wondering if you’d-”

“ _ Help you out with something, yes, that does tend to be why people call me, _ ” Indrid said flippantly. Barclay winced with guilt. 

“I’m sorry I- That’s rude of me, I should have just called to check up on you.”

“ _ Oh, Barclay, you, you misunderstand, _ ” came a giggling voice, “ _ I have no desire to talk to you, nor almost anyone conversationally. I find it exhausting. I have no problem being a source of help - as long as no one asks me to do the socializing. So! What do you need? _ ”   


Barclay blinked again. “W-well…” he stammered, “It’s sort of… complicated. Do you remember-”

“ _ Agent Stern! _ ” he said along with him. He sounded absolutely delighted. “ _ Oh, Barclay. With a human FBI Agent! How _ scandalous!”

Barclay’s face was already going hot. He knew this was a bad idea. With absolutely no way to reasonably respond to that, Barclay only tripped over his words. “Um - well - you know it… it is what it is! Heh… Complicated, I guess.”

“ _ You don’t need to justify yourself to me, I assure you, _ ” Indrid said, and there was a tone of mischievous commiseration in his voice, “ _ I have had my own… personal flings with certain humans in the sphere of Kepler. You didn’t hear it from me, but one Duck Newton and I have at certain points been very well acquainted! _ ”   


“Wh… Isn’t- isn’t he with Minerva?”

“ _ Well, yes, but she lends me the occasional weekend. A gracious heart if ever there was one.”  _ Barclay didn’t rightly know how to react to that dizzying news, so he just let him go on. “ _ My point was only that I am no one to pass judgment! Do what you will, as far as I am concerned. I will do my best to give you some clues as to where this FBI man lives or how you might… run into him… mm… on one condition. _ ”   


Barclay gritted his teeth. “What’s that?”

_ “You’ll be at the Amnesty Christmas party, yes?” _ _   
_

“That’s… the goal.”

_ “If you make up a full party-sized batch of your famous rum eggnog, then I will look into the whereabouts of your friend.” _

Barclay laughed slightly at that, his eyebrows creasing. That was no big deal at all - with access to the Amnesty kitchen, getting there early enough, he could have it done easy. “Sure, yeah, it’s no problem.”

_ “You’ve got a deal then! I’ll call you with news on your Agent as soon as I find it.” _

His eyes lit up, hand curling around the phone. “Really?! Th-thank you, I can’t even-”

Partway through his apology, Indrid had hung up. Barclay pulled the phone away from his ear and grinned. He punched the air. This was  _ it,  _ he told himself, it  _ had _ to be!

The Unexplained Phenomena Division had a mini-Christmas party every year, a few days before Christmas. This year, they had it the day before Christmas eve. The entire Division was about a dozen people, and few of them had any experience partying. For that reason, the party was held in the office, with string lights wrapped around the computer monitors, drinks poured in glasses on the desks. Everyone wore nerdy, goofy sweaters or light-up antlers and got drunk enough that their conspiracy boards turned into conspiracy quilts. Oddly enough, there tended to be more brainstorming than laughing - usually, Chris would sneak in top-notch pot for everyone in the office, and they’d all go home totally convinced that aliens ran all the fast food chains in America and the Loch Ness Monster was a time traveling creature from millions of years in the future. 

It was earlier in the party now, and Dell had poked and prodded Stern for half an hour until he finally agreed to tell the story about ‘the wolf’. Normally such a topic would have been sensitive, but he was getting somewhat buzzed and the shocked and impressed attention of his nerdy co-workers was enough to cancel out the bitter mourning just for now. Pretty much the entire Division was gathered around him where he sat, with his wounded leg uncomfortably propped up on a desk, a glass of rum and eggnog in his hand on the arm of his swivel chair. 

“Okay, so, it was late at night, and I figured, I’d been here long enough that it was time to investigate. I tell this guy about it - the cook - he says to me, ‘Bring you gun.’ I sort of laugh at him, right? I’m like, why would I need to do that? He says ‘bears’.”

Several of the Agents scoffed. 

“You don’t think he really believed that, did you?”

Stern rose his eyebrows. “I don’t know what he believed, but that’s the last time I doubt West Virginian wildlife,” he said charismatically, and a wide-eyed chuckle pulsed across the room. “Anyway. I get out there, and it gets dark _fast, _way faster than I think it’s going to. And I see this… pair of eyes in the woods. I can’t figure out what it is at first, because it’s _enormous. _Before I saw its hackles go up, I thought it was a bear or something. For a second it just stands there, like it’s considering, and I get my flashlight pointed on it. I start to back away. Next thing I know, the thing’s on me and it’s got its teeth sunk in down to the _bone.”__  
_ The more squeamish members of the team hissed and cringed. 

Dell spoke up. “Joe, you do know nobody on this team’s gonna be happy until we see the scar right? That’s gotta be the scar of a lifetime.”

A curly haired woman spoke up, sipping her drink uncomfortably. “Why would we want to see that?”

“I wanna see it!” someone shouted.

“It’s not even a scar yet, guys, it barely happened two months ago!” Stern rebutted, “And either way, I’m not taking my pants off for you smart-asses.” He sipped his drink.

“What happened next, Joe?” asked Sarah, enthralled.

“Well… The forests out there are  _ enormous _ . There was no getting an ambulance in there, and I start losing blood fast. I shot enough that it ran off, but even still, I figured I was done for.”

“And?! How the Hell did you survive it?!” Dell demanded impatiently. 

Stern smiled slightly into his drink, pain in his eyes, gritting his teeth. Even as buzzed as he was, he hurt to talk about. “Remember the cook I told you about?” he asked wryly. 

The group nodded.

“Turns out he had followed me out. According to him, I was a ‘city boy’. He wanted to make sure I didn’t get into any trouble or get lost, and as soon as he heard me scream he took me back to the Lodge. They had like, an infirmary in the basement, since there wasn’t a hospital close enough to the forests, and apparently I wasn’t the first. He helped me out himself, got me back on my feet.” He took a drink and, to appear especially cool, he added in, “He didn’t really have anything but ibuprofen so, you know, it wasn’t… 

wasn’t the best time, but hey, I’m back!”  
A wave of impressed groans and leaning back in seats went over the group, and Stern smiled to himself. It was pretty cool, wasn’t it? If nothing else, he at least had the bragging rights of being attacked by a wolf and surviving. Of course, he really deserved the bragging rights of being attacked by something much much bigger and scarier and surviving, but he took what he could get. 

Then Dell, notably drunk, shot their mouth off. “Is that the guy you had that fling with, Joe?”

The smile dropped from Joe’s face, and most of the group let out a childish ‘ooh’.

“Oh, Joe, getting some action in the country!” joked one of the computer buffs, and punched his arm.

“It wasn’t  _ like that,”  _ he snapped vulnerably.

Luckily, Sarah swung in to the rescue. “Alright, guys, he told you the wolf story, leave him alone.”

“Man, I can’t believe you never went to a hospital. You’re nuts,” said Dell, and downed their drink. 

As he began to consider a retort for that, Stern felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and pulled it out. He clenched his teeth. His brother.

“Hold up, guys, I gotta take this,” he said. He stood and pulled away from the group, heading over to the front door of the office and stepping outside. He sat down on the concrete steps, breathing in the bitter cold air of the black winter night. He let out a breath, and answered the phone.

“Hey, Mike,” he said, feigning cheerfulness. 

“ _ Hey, Joe! _ ” Mike said. His voice sounded strained, like he was tired, or upset. “ _ I was just um… I was just calling to ask if you were coming to spend Christmas with the family this year? _ ”   


Stern’s heart sank. Bitterly and simply he answered, “No.”

There was a long, long pause from the other side of the phone. “ _ Okay, _ ” Mike eventually said, “ _ Well… you’ll be missed. You’re uh… missed every year, but… _ ” he sighed. “ _ Come up and visit sometime soon though, yeah? I won’t invite mom and dad, but… your nephews want to see you. _ ”

Stern smiled sweetly. “Yeah,” he agreed. 

“ _ Are you doing anything for Christmas, spending it with anyone else? _ ”

Stern rolled his shoulders forward. Despite the fact that he’d said almost nothing else, he couldn’t muster any more than a yes or no answer once again. “No.”

Another pause. “ _ Well… _ ” he said slowly, “ _ If you change your mind, you’re always welcome in our house, as far as I’m concerned. _ ” After that, he carefully added. “ _ A-all of you. You know… _ ”

“Yeah, I know,” Stern said with a smile, “Thanks, Mike.”

“ _ No problem. Nice talking to you, Joe. Call again soon. _ ”

“Okay. Bye.”

“ _ Bye. _ ”

Stern hung up the phone. He let out a long breath, and watched it float away in soft white wisps into the night. The stars were shining now, but dimly, compared to the way they shone into the lobby of the Amnesty Lodge. In the city the sky always seemed so far away, and the world around him so harsh and so close. The air was freezing. The cars rushed past without a moment of hesitation, roaring into the once tranquil night. Stern didn’t go back into the party, contemplating the idea over and over in the quiet. Another Christmas alone. 


	12. Fate and the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion on Christmas eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!! sorry i havent posted in a few days but the reason for that is that my state, Connecticut, uhhhhhhhhh fucking died!! it litearlly just died look it up in the news like all of us lost power for a week including me so i didn't really feel like wasting my laptop battery to write or post or whatnot. buT!! we have power now!! huzzah!! not sure what the next thing i'll post will be but i havent been terribly motivated and have been writing a lot of ace attorney fics! so maybe one of those who knows
> 
> thanks for the continual support guys, please don't forget to leave a comment!

It was Christmas eve. That said, it had only been so for about an hour and thirty minutes.

In the absolute dead of night (or technically, morning) Barclay heard his phone ringing from the passenger seat. He groaned, and shuffled where he lay across the back. Who the Hell would call this early. Fumbling in the dark he hit the car light and then picked up the phone. His eyes lit up, the sleep falling off of him like snow. It was Indrid.

“Indrid, hi!” he said, his voice still rough from the night. He robbed his eyes. 

“Hello, Barclay!” said Indrid. He didn’t sound as though he’d been spelling at all - Barclay casually wondered if he was nocturnal. “It took me a day or two, but I was able to secure the apartment of your dear FBI friend. Don’t forget about my nog, now!”  
Barclay’s jaw dropped. He had been hoping for a vague omen, perhaps a time and place he’d be. An address was a dream come true. “His apartment?” he managed out, “Indrid thank you, how the Hell did you get that?”

“Oh, I got a vision of you showing up there. Pro-tip - you might want to say something from behind the door instead of just knocking! I’m afraid through your attempts to find your lover you may have triggered his government paranoia!” Indrid told him cheerily, “Anyway, he lives in Apartment 35 in the complex at 47 Elm Street. Good luck!”

Before Barclay could get a word in, he hung up. His jaw was still hanging open. This was it! He’d  _ found  _ him! More than anything, he wanted to head over there right this very moment - he checked the time on the dashboard. 1:38. So… maybe not right now. If it was true that he’d accidentally made Stern believe he was being stalked, it was even less of a good idea. Great move on his part, he thought bitterly. After all, he was technically stalking him. He could only hope that when he saw his face he’d understand. What would he say when he saw his face? The very thought sent lightning bolts of excitement right through his chest. He sat in the back seat of his car for the next ten minutes doing nothing but considering just that, grinning like a man who’d just won a million dollars. 

There’d be no calling of friends that night, unfortunately. The Lodge was probably preparing, and his only friend in the city was Emma, who was no doubt busy. It was a shame - he would have loved to have gotten drinks with her about this, even at 2 in the morning. Nevertheless, he’d promised her at least a thousand times he’d tell her if he learned anything - so, still riding the high, he texted her:

**I FOUND HIM!!!**

Instantly, a call came in. 

_“You what?!”__  
_ Barclay laughed. “Don’t you have Christmas Eve stuff to do?”  
“_Dude! Jewish, remember? I got nothing going on, tell me_ everything!” Her tone was about as enthusiastic as if _she _was the oen to find her long lost, ships-in-the-night lover. It occurred to him only after she asked that he couldn’t exactly tell her he had a ‘psychic contact’. So, with a grin on his face, he improvised.

“You were right!” he finally said. “Random luck. I saw him going into his apartment complex - I didn’t have the nerve to stop him. But I’m gonna go there tonight! I just hope it isn’t too… uh, stalker-y.”  
“_Barclay, you _have_ to go, I mean you _have_ to go meet this man! And it’s not stalking if he never told you to stop! If he does that, then, well, you can pick up the pieces from there but… but that’s incredible, man, that’s mind-blowing!”_

“Must be fate!” Barclay said with a wide smile. “Hey, thanks for everything, Emma. I couldn’t have asked for someone more… supportive of all this weirdness.” He decided not to add the fact that she was his first real friend outside of Keplar - maybe she’d know that some other time, he thought. 

Emma sounded like she was tearing up. “ _ Man, anything I can do for love! This has been an incredible thing to watch, I feel like an extra in a Disney movie! I love that I met you so much man, Barclay, you’re the absolute best man, the best! _ ” Now she was audibly crying, and Barclay squinted.

“Are you drunk?” he said softly. 

“ _ A little, but the sentiment stands! _ ”

“I thought you didn’t have anything going on Wait a second, why-” He looked at the clock again. “Why are you even up?”

“_Okay, I might be at a teensy party my friend invited me to, but it’s cool, this is more important, this is more important, I’m here, I’m with you!_”  
Barclay grinned. “Emma, you can go back to your party, I’ve told you everything there is to know. When I meet the guy, I promise I’ll update you.”

“ _ Okay, you promise? _ ”

“Promise.”

“ _ Ok, Barclay, merry merry Christmas, my lovely fry-cook, kisses! _ ”

“Ok, bye Emma, have fun, merry… not Christmas.” He squinted, trying to remember if he’d ever heard about what Jewish people celebrated (or, honestly, what ‘Jewish’ even really meant.)  
“_Hanukkah, honey, don’t worry about it!_” she laughed, “_Bye!_”

“Bye!” He hung up the phone, and chuckled to himself. What an incredible city, he thought. He looked downtown, trying to picture the apartment complex where Stern lived. What wonderful people. 

Barclay knew there’d be no more sleeping tonight, so he resolved to make one more phone call. He opened up his phone, searched for 24 hour grocery stores, and found the address.

Barclay stood in front of the red door labeled ‘35’. This was it. In his hands was an already opened grocery store vanilla cake that said ‘Merry Christmas!’ and scrawled in below it with red icing was ‘Sorry for stalking you!’ His heart was racing. The words ran through his mind over and over. This was it. This was it. 

Hand shaking, he reached out and rang the doorbell.

Stern paused at the doorbell. He was partway through getting dressed, hair still wet from the shower, pulling a sweatshirt over his button-down. It took less time than he would have thought for his paranoia to kick in. He ran a hand through his hair, and then stepped over to the dresser, opening the top drawer. Inside it was a black, government-issued pistol. Was that too harsh? He gritted his teeth, chest packed with anxiety like cotton. If this was the person, then they’d called their dad and tried to reach him. They’d asked around. They’d  _ tracked  _ him - it couldn’t be good. Even still - he wasn’t prepared to shoot anyone - that was way above his pay grade. The bell rang again, and shot terror up his spine. Who was out there? Someone from the Lodge, wasn’t it? Here to throw a bag over his head - here to see to it that no one else found out the dark secrets of Keplar. He went rigid, mind racing with what he was supposed to do. 

Then, there came a voice. 

“Hey, um… Joe, I know this is weird timing and… a little stalker-y that I know your address but um… It’s uh… it’s-it’s me.”

At the first word, Stern’s eyes went wide. His shoulders fell, and he froze. Several seconds passed. Again it came, like rain in the desert.

“J… Joe? Are you home?”  
Stern shut his eyes tight. _Please don’t be a dream, _he begged meekly. _Please._

In steady footsteps, he stepped out of his bedroom to face the solid black door just to the left of the coat hooks. This was it, he thought. This was it. He put his hand on the handle.

_ Please don’t be a dream. _

Then, he pulled the door open.

There, standing in the hallway light, was Barclay. He looked insecure, soft in the eyes the way he always did, his beard a little overgrown, his hair frantically combed back. His body was tough, and strong, a flannel over his back, and he smelled like pine and Amnesty Lodge. In his hands was a cake. ‘Merry Christmas’, it said. ‘Sorry for stalking you’.

Upon seeing his face, Barclay’s mouth fell open, and a look of tenderness flooded into his eyes. He let out a sharp sigh. He’d spent all day waiting for this moment, all month really, and yet it didn’t seem possible - like something would go wrong at the last moment. He took in the contour of his cheeks, the way his hair fell around his face. 

“Joe…” he breathed.  _ Explain yourself,  _ his mind told him. “I uh… I’m sorry to drop in like this on… Christmas Eve and all. I know it’s a little weird that I know your address, but-”

He was cut off as Stern, teary eyed, lunched forward and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face into his shoulder. He held him as tightly as he could, beginning to cry into his neck. His skin felt the same - real, and warm, he thought. This was no dream. “It’s really you,” he whispered, “You’re really here.”

Barclay teared up, slowly wrapping his arms around him in return. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I’m here. I’m here.”

Stern, after a good long time in his shoulder letting Barclay rub circles into his back, pulled away, hands still on his upper arms. “But I… I thought you couldn’t leave Keplar!”

Barclay smiled, and shrugged. “I could visit Kepler,” he said, “I… guess I couldn’t leave you.”

Stern grinned at that sentiment, nearly swooning back into his apartment. “Well come… come in, please! It’s not much.” He invited Barclay into the two bedroom apartment. It was almost entirely pristine, somewhat Spartan, but a bit more clutter than usual had accumulated - trash on bedside tables, clothes thrown on the arms of couches. On the opposite end of the living room was a window that took up nearly the entire wall, letting the sunrise pour in. Strange - so far apart, yet it looked and felt just like the sunsets in Amnesty, he thought. 

The two of them talked for hours. They sat close together on the couch - closer than they used to, legs touching all the time - and told each other about all that had happened in the time they were apart. Oddly enough, it had felt like a laughtime. The orange-red sun blinked awake into a brilliant yellow that left a drifting square across the offwhite carpet as they went on grinning at each other in disbelief. Stern got up and fetched a bottle of wine from his pantry, and poured them both a glass. It paired surprisingly well with the dry vanilla cake from the 24 hour grocery store. Barclay lifted his glass.

“To fate,” he said, “And the universe.”

Stern grinned, creasing his eyebrows. “Fate and the universe? I never took you for a superstitious guy, Barclay.”

He shrugged. “I’m not,” he said, “But I mean, I don’t know, it’s just kinda crazy from it. I come from an alien planet to an obscure little town. You just so happen to travel to that town. You leave, I just so happen to find you. It’s fate.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did you find me?” Stern asked, leaning forward. “I’m a government agent, my address isn’t anywhere on social media or anything. What did you just, follow me home.”  
Barclay cursed his lips. How much could he say? Clearly he could be trusted, he told himself - he had all this time to report him and Keplar, and so far he’d gotten no calls from mama of any more government investigations. He meant what he said. And besides, it was so fun to watch him get excited. “Well,” he said, “Let’s just say I have a um… contact, with abilities that are… less frequently found on Earth… and he was kind enough to help me out by taking a little… little peek into the future.”

Stern’s jaw dropped, and Barclay smiled into his wine. “ _ There’s psychic aliens? _ ” he whispered intently, “Come on, don’t fuck with me here.”

“I’m not fucking with you!” Barclay said, putting his hands up defensively, “Guy named Indrid, he didn’t live in the Lodge so you wouldn’t have met him.” He then stopped himself, looking apologetically downward. “Look, I… still have to ask Mama what exactly she’s okay with you knowing, so I can’t go, you know, spewing information. But uh… let’s just say that… most of your suppositions about what’s really going on in the world… they’re right?”  
Stern visibly didn’t like the answer of ‘I can’t tell you,’ his knee already bouncing, eyes sparkling. “Seriously? Like-like what, like what are we talking about? What else is there? Ghosts?”

“Joe, I can’t say.”

“Okay but what about time travel?”  
“Joe-”

“Bigfoot!” he exclaimed sharply, pointing a finger. “Come on, they’ve gotta be real. Say nothing if he’s real.”

Barclay opened his mouth, a smile on his face, then went quiet, taking a sip of his wine.

“Yes! I _knew _it!” Stern said punching the air, “I knew it, I knew it, I _knew _it wasn’t a hoax! But what were they doing next to the Lodge? Unless they’re an alien too!”  
Barclay lifted a hand to calm him, still somewhat amused. “Okay, Joe? I cannot do this, I’ll tell you what Mama tells me is fair game, _then _we can talk.”

Stern deflated slightly. “Right,” he said, leaning back on the couch again, “Of course.”  
There was a moment of quiet, before Barclay went on. “Anyway. I’m going to the Lodge tomorrow for Christmas, so I can ask her then. I imagine you have plans of your own.”

With a meek laugh, Stern tapped his fingers against the edge of his wine glass. “Not uh… not this year, no,” he answered honestly, “Family’s complicated. But... that’s not important. I mean, if it’s not weird… tell them I say hi? God this is all so weird, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer that, eyebrows creased. “You don’t have plans?” he asked.

Stern sighed - great, talking about that more. “No, not, uh, not this year,” he said, “You know just some personal stuff, sort of wound up without really anyone to… sort of, spend the day of with. I went to other things though which is- which is cool.”

“Well - come to the Lodge.”

Stern’s eyes flicked up from where they’d been uncomfortably lingering to meet Barclay’s. “What - seriously?”

“Well… well yeah, I don’t see why not. I mean, I’ll have to ask Mama, but I mean, if it’s just for a day it should be… it should be okay.” He swallowed, holding his wine glass to his chest, “Listen, the fact that you went home knowing everything you knew and we didn’t get any more agents our way? That means you… you clearly can be trusted. I don’t see what other proof anyone would need, so… Yeah. Come spend Christmas with me, Joe. I… would really like to have you there.”

For a few moments he only smiled, tears welling in his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered, “Yeah, I’ll do that.”  
He looked away for a few seconds, staring at the perfect blue sky out the window, the sun now high above his sight. Then he shut his eyes and leaned into Barclay’s shoulder - he took his chin and pulled it towards him, planting a soft kiss on his lips. 


	13. The Weird Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay and Stern finally have the discussion about what Barclay is and where he comes from in a long car ride to Keplar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so ao3 keeps eating my fics!! so heres another chapter of this and if it eats that too im Suing
> 
> hopefully someday ill get it to post my fUcking ace attorney fics but! only time can tell
> 
> my apologies for temporarily leaving all my wips in the dirt behind me but soon ill probably get back into And The City Dreamt Of Me again bc i did like that one..................... as for the rest. idk yall cross your fingers. im pretty lazy.

While Stern got together a few overnight things and picked out what would be his defining Christmas outfit, Barclay stayed in the living room, and called up Mama. If everything went well, they’d leave tonight, and sleep over at the Lodge. As it was, he needed some time to get the Nog going before the party - and besides, it wasn’t as though he could object to spending a night with Stern. Granted, based on how things were going between them it was looking like they’d have a lot more nights to spare. But still. It had been over a month, and he was feeling somewhat urgent - even tonight felt somewhat too far away for his tastes. 

But of course, if Mama vetoed the idea it was all off. He tried not to think about that. 

The phone rang twice before she picked up. 

“ _ Howdy there, Barclay, how you doing? _ ”

Barclay made no effort to contain the delight in his voice. “Really good, Mama,” he confessed.

“ _ Oh? _ ”

“I found him,” he said, grinning, “We met up in the city. We’ve been talking all day.”

A sweet maternal tone came into her voice. “ _ Oh - Barclay, that’s - that’s just wonderful, I’m so glad for you two. Send the young agent my regards. _ ”

Barclay clenched his teeth. “Actually, Mama… I was wondering if… he could be my plus-one to Christmas this year.” There was a long pause - Barclay couldn’t help but fill it, lest it stretch on for years. “He hasn’t told anyone in months, Mama, and he’s had plenty of chances to. We can really, really trust him.” He couldn’t let Mama get a word in, he thought. He had to put it all out there. He spilled the rest of his intentions out carelessly. “And I- I want to fill him in, Mama. I want to… to tell him about me, and- and us. I want to be open with him. But I wanted to come to you for permission first.”

Mama sighed heavily. “O _ kay, I’ll cover these things one by one. First off, yes he can come to Christmas. I’ll have to make the Lodge a little more anxious than usual, and Jake won’t like it anyway but… I suppose if this fella’s gonna be your boyfriend we’d better get used to him! As for filling him in… _ ” She sighed again. “ _ Oh, alright. But I have some rules! _ ”   


Barclay’s face exploded into a grin. “Yes, anything!”   


“ _ No showing him the archway, no telling him about Thacker, and no revealing anyone’s true forms without their explicit consent! Also, see to it he knows that the abominations are not from Silvane! I don’t want him thinking y’all are sending your killers over and nothing else! And if you show him your true form I want it to be out of the public eye, in Kepler, not in DC - too many people could see you. Do all that and you can… fill him in. _ ”

“Oh, thank you Mama, thank you!”   


“ _ Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it. You coming down today? _ ”

“Yeah, we’re leaving in just a sec. I promised Indrid I’d make him eggnog in exchange for helping me find Joe, so… I’ve gotta get on that.”   


“ _ Ah. Well, hurry home, Barclay. It’ll be good to see ya. _ ” A momentary wist came into her voice, and made Barclay smile at the ground.

“Okay, Mama, I will. Bye.”

“ _ See you in a bit! _ ”

At the sound of a positive reaction, Stern rushed into the room, now dressed up in a blue white button down with a red and green tie, which he was still tying. As soon as Barclay hung up, he asked, “Well?”   


Barclay smiled. “Merry Christmas.”   


He laughed, elated. “So we are going?”

“Yep! And I got the all-clear to tell you almost everything. It’s gonna be an interesting car ride.”

At that, Stern’s eyes lit up with awe. All of the sudden, he couldn’t possibly get his tie on or pack his things any faster. “Well- well what are we waiting for?” he asked, “Let’s go!”  
Barclay laughed, stood, and kissed him on the cheek. Stern grinned, grabbed his bags, and followed him out the door. 

It was a long and uneventful car ride from DC to Keplar - much of it was unpopulated, with nothing to look at but the dramatic, snow-capped mountains off in the distant horizon. Snow flurried down from the sky and melted the highway. It would be a good four or five hours before they made it back to Amnesty Lodge - ample time, thought Barclay, to explain the gist of it. He had some 80s music station on the radio turned down low, and began to go into everything as he drove along the winding, snowy highway.

“Okay. So. I guess I’ll start with our classic opener… monsters are real. Vampires, ghosts, Wendigos, shapeshifters, animal people, zombie people, all of it.”   


Stern rose his eyebrows. “Oh… okay,” he said, “So that’s big.”

Barclay chuckled. “Yeah, that’s… that’s just the opener,” he said, “You good for more?”   


Already, he looked somewhat dazed, but shook his head and said, “Yeah, go on.”

“These so-called monsters are actually from a planet called Silvane. For as long as our two planets existed, Silvane has been linked to Earth via a portal. Our citizens would come through, be discovered by humans and receive your sort of… colloquial names. Silvane is where I’m from. You with me so far?”

Stern blinked, jaw hanging open. “Okay, um… so not only is every cryptid real… they’re all aliens… from the same planet?” he asked slowly.

“Yep.”

“How is that…” he laughed, “How is that possible, they all look so different.”   


Barclay winced. “See, Sylvanian biology isn’t really like human biology. It’s really easier to imagine us as a collection of species as opposed to just one, cause we all kind of come from different things. You know, some of us just… evolved that way, just look like that, but a lot of Sylvanians are descended from actual human animals. If, say, a rabbit wandered through the portal, Silvane would, overtime, turn it into an intelligent being. And as for ghosts, spirits, and what not… death isn’t really the same there either. Silvane has been known to bring people back… we don’t really know why she does it when she does, but well, that explains the ghosts. It’s all very complicated. I was surprised to find out how simple your evolution was when I came over.”

Stern blinked. “Uhh…” he said, reeling. He tried to put together a question, but too many overloaded his system at once. “Um.”

Barclay flashed a tentative smile. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m good, I’m good,” he gasped, “So… I’m confused, you said Silvane was your planet, and then you said ‘she’ did all different things.”

“Silvane is very much alive!” Barclay answered, “And not in like a sort of hippie ‘the world loves us’ way as it is here, as in she chooses to do things and gives us life, physically, she gives us life. I didn’t need to eat until I lived on Earth for a while and my system adjusted. You know the hot springs?”   


“Yeah?”   


“Silvane’s energy comes through there, that’s why the residents need to… you know, get in there from time to time. I’ve been here too long, though, I’m pretty sure my system’s adjusted to how you guys get, you know, energy and nutrients, sleep, food, sun, water, so on and so forth.”   


“Yeah, so on and so forth…” Stern weakly parrotted. His voice was high now, and he looked nearly dazed enough to pass out. Barclay grimaced.

“Maybe that… infodump was a little much all at once,” he said.

“No, I… I’m fine,” he insisted, still gasping, “So uh, just to clarify…. things that are real. Magic…”

Barclay nodded.

“Aliens…”   


Another nod.

“ _ Every  _ type of monster… across the board.”

Barclay winced, rocking his head back and forth. “I don’t think the Loch Ness Monster is ours,” he confessed, “It could be real, but I’ve never - I’ve never heard of anything like that, that one might be nonsense, I don’t know.”

Stern nodded distantly. “Okay… I think I am… maybe, starting to process this.” He thought for a few more seconds, staring at the dashboard, before asking, “Why are you here?”   


Barclay sighed - where the fun part ended. “Well, Silvane isn’t exactly happy with Earth at the moment. The relationship is complicated. But… if you commit certain crimes, mainly portal related ones, the response is to exile you through a portal! I wasn’t lying when I said the people of the Lodge had nowhere they could go - they can’t go home. Most of them haven’t been here long enough that they can get too far from the Springs.”

His eyebrows creased in sympathy. “Barclay, I’m sorry,” he said. 

Barclay shrugged. “That was a long time ago. It’s okay.”

They drove for a few minutes in silence, Barclay keeping a careful eye on Stern while he stared pointedly out the window trying desperately to process all that he’d just been told. He’d have more questions, Barclay thought. He’d have  _ the  _ question. Any minute now.

“So… if I can ask… what traditional…  _ monster  _ are you?” 

There it was.

Barclay laughed anxiously. The best part. “That part is… actually probably the weirdest of all of it!”

“Weirder than what you already said?” asked Stern in disbelief.

“Well, I mean… it’s up there.” He took in a breath, and then let it out, tightly gripping the steering wheel. “Okay, so… At first I figured you’d be pretty disgusted by this, but then you reacted pretty surprisingly to some other stuff about me so… I honestly have no idea how you’re gonna react which is… terrifying! But you know, just think what you think and… react how you react and it is what it is.” He sighed heavily, eyes fixated on the highway. Slowly, he told him. “I am… what saved you in the woods.”

There was a moment of pause, before Stern gently nodded. “Yeah, I remember,” he prompted. 

Barclay laughed. “No, Joe, you’re not hearing me,” he said, and then repeated, “I am what  _ saved  _ you in the  _ woods.” _

About five seconds passed before a truly shocked look came over Stern’s face and he yelled (far too loudly for a car that size) “ _ You’re bigfoot?!” _ _   
_

He winced away from the voice in his ear and put a hand up, chuckling awkwardly. “That is… not the name I  _ chose  _ but it is how most humans have…  _ labeled  _ me, yes.”

“Wh…” Stern said, and clutched his head, messing up his hair, “S-so that’s- that’s like a whole other species on Silvane, there’s a whole… whole bigfoot  _ race?” _

“Um… see, this is the weird part,” Barclay said uncomfortably. His head pulled into his shoulders like a turtle while he spoke. 

“ _ That wasn’t the weird part?! _ ”

“I am… actually unique! As far as I know. The population of Silvane, due to a series of sort of, natural disasters is quite a lot smaller than that of Earth, and a lot more diverse so… It’s not so much that there’s a race of-of those creatures, it’s more that… I was not super careful about my image when I first came over and TV shows in Canada really,  _ really  _ liked talking about me for some reason!” A tone of irritation ran through his voice as he spoke with gritted teeth, but it quickly calmed. “But, yeah, as far as… Silfs go, I am, actually… the one and only, heh. Take that… how you will.”   


Stern paused for a moment, staring blankly. “You’re fucking with me,” he stated.

“I’m not, I’m not fucking with you!” laughed Barclay, “I’m… the only one, I’m… him.” He smiled Meekly at Stern, who was paler than he’d ever seen him. “Surprise!” 

Stern was quiet for a very long time. He stared at the dashboard, eyes slightly wide and lips parted, hair still mussed up from before. He looked truly shaken, thought Barclay. Maybe this was a bad idea. Nevertheless, he squirmed on in the silence, waiting for him to react. 

“So…” he eventually said, raising a cautious hand. “ _ Bigfoot…  _ is… my…  _ boyfriend?” _ _   
_

Barclay’s heart skipped a beat, doing a double take at him. Boyfriend? “Um… yeah, I… I guess if that’s what we’re calling it,” he said, and grinned stupidly. “Yes. I… bigfoot… but, uh, please don’t… call me that… am your boyfriend.” Barclay said, putting a hand on his chest formally. Getting through the word boyfriend was a bit of a task, but it exploded into butterscotch on the way off of his tongue.  _ Boyfriend.  _

“And this isn’t…” Stern went on carefully.

“...What?”   


“A- a dream?”   


Barclay looked at him, and considered that. “Well, I guess if it was I wouldn’t…  _ know…  _ but, we’ve been in this car for a few hours now… the radio’s playing Sweet Child Of Mine, and there’s… twelve birds flying over the car, that feels kind of specific for a dream, don’t you think?”   


He didn’t seem to know how to answer that, raising his eyebrows and half-laughing in wonderment. “Wow…” he breathed, and shook his head. But he was smiling, Barclay noticed. That had to be good, right? Stern raised a hand and ran his fingers through his hair again, grin growing gradually wider and wider. “Wow… Barclay, if you’re getting my hopes up-”

“Your- I’m sorry, your hopes up?” he stammered, awed. The smile fell from Stern’s face, embarrassment replacing it.

“Um… you know what I mean.”

“Well… okay, well I’m not, first of all, and… I don’t. Know… what you mean, are you… Are you like, stoked about this?” he asked, perplexed, “You do know that it’s not like some cute… like, monster themed anime version, I’m like, you know, big and hairy and all that. Like, a real- real weird looking guy. Real deal.”

“Mhm.” Stern was trying and miserably failing to look anything but absolutely thrilled, but already there was a sparkle in his eyes that told Barclay he was getting more excited with every detail about his physical appearance. He had the same look in his eyes when he’d let it slip that he was eight feet tall. 

With nothing left to do, Barclay burst into laughter. 

“Wh- what?!” demanded Stern, “What would you- would you rather I be some- some asshole and act all disgusted, I’m not gonna do that to you!”   


“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Barclay said, tears forming in his eyes, “It’s just… You are actually into this! You have such a thing for monsters!”

Stern went red. “Wh- I am not! And I don’t like the word monsters, I prefer ‘nonhuman’.”

Barclay shook his head, still laughing hysterically. “Unbelievable,” he sighed.

“Wh- so you’re just gonna sit here laughing at me about it?!” said Stern with a sharp gesture. “So I have… peculiar tastes. You’re one to talk, you ‘did it’ with an alien too, what’s that about?”   


“Many Sylvanians are humanoid, this is only weird on your end,” Barclay assured him, “Look, I… I’m glad you’re taking it so well. I was worried I’d have to keep the disguise on around you all the time to, you know, make you comfortable which… is not ideal if we’re gonna be… you know.” 

The humor faded for a moment, and Stern smiled softly, looking down. “Yeah…” he said. Where Barclay’s hand rested on the cupholder, he reached over, and placed his hand on top. Barclay laughed silently to himself, and then looked back over at him, blushing. He kissed him on the cheek, nuzzled into his neck for a moment, and then went on driving. Stern was silent for a few moments, before asking carefully, “Will you… will you take it off when we get to the Lodge?”   


“Oh yes,” Barclay sighed, “I have been looking forward to it for a  _ while.  _ It’s not really, like, comfortable? I mean it’s not… it’s not a skin suit or anything it’s just…” he held up his wrist, as if that spoke for itself.

“What, the bracelet?” Stern asked, fascinated. 

“Yeah, you know, I… take it off, I go back to normal, and I have been  _ really  _ waiting on that.” He laughed meekly, “I won’t, uh, bore you with the details, but that’s part of the delight of going home. Haven’t been there in a while and… it’s always safe. Thanks to you.”

Stern grinned, and shrugged. “Oh…” he sighed, “It was nothing, really. Just a couple white lies.”   


“Yeah, well, it means everything to me,” Barclay answered firmly, “Thank you, Joe.”

Stern shrugged. “Thanks for coming back.”   


“Only man in the world who  _ wants  _ to sleep with Bigfoot, how could I stay away?” Barclay asked with a coy smile, and Stern laughed sweetly, his head falling into his chest. Barclay looked at him closely, the curve of his cheek, the soft brown of his eyes. It was easier now to look at, now that he knew he didn’t have to savor it. He had all the time in the world. 


	14. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern and Barclay finally make it home for Christmas. Barclay breaks the news to the rest of the Lodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall!!!! i knew this took a while, but we are SO close to the end. cant believe ill have finished a fic this long.......... soon. SOON!!!!
> 
> anyway im glad yall have enjoyed it so much!! i do love this pair, and amnesty gives me hhhh fEeLiNgS even after all this time. so! please leave a comment, soon to wrap this bad boy up >:)

By the time they arrived at Amnesty Lodge, it was about 8:00 at night. The Lobby lights were on, golden through the long, clear windows, and the stars twinkled unobstructed and deep out here in the middle of the country. The sound of cars had given way to the crickets and the frogs, singing their everlasting rhythm from the ongoing horizon of pine trees in the Monongahela forest. Barclay breathed in the air that came through the open window in a long breath that sank to the bottom of his gut and stayed there. How he’d missed this place, and he didn’t even know it until now. 

He looked to see Stern opening his window too, pushing himself up out of his seat to shut his eyes and breathe the air. His eyebrows creased, and the ache ran through his entire body. It was clear he missed this place too, despite how brief a taste of it he’d gotten before. 

They pulled into the dark parking lot, where there was a group of about a dozen silhouettes, almost the entire population of the lodge. He heard Jake cry out, “He’s here, he’s back!” He grinned. Stern, however, had lost the relief he’d shown when he’d first smelled the air, his lips anxiously pursed and his stance tense. Barclay rested a hand atop his as an obvious message:  _ This is gonna go fine.  _ Stern opted to believe him. 

Barclay stepped out of the car first. In half a second, Jake had his arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Barclay!” he exclaimed, “Man, it’s so good to see you! Merry Christmas!”

“Good to see you too, Jake! Merry Christmas!” he laughed. 

Aubrey took her turn next, decked out in mittens and a beanie, hugging him tightly in the next moment, and Dani placed a hand on his shoulder. “Barclay! How’s the world, how’s life?!”

Barclay chuckled meekly, “It’s… a lot.”

“Buuuut?” asked Aubrey with a grin, and Barclay smiled back.

“But it’s… pretty incredible.” he admitted. “And it’s good to see the world. Actually… really good! I’ve… been living in DC.”

“Ooh, the city life!” Aubrey enthused. 

Dani cocked her head. “I know of that place. Isn’t that this country’s capital?”   


Barclay nodded. “It’s… quite the place. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people altogether…” Then he looked around at the towering pines, seeming to whisper comforts down to him. He sighed. “But it’s not home.”   


A voice spoke up: “Glad to see we’ve still got our rustic charm.”

Barclay’s chest exploded with delight as he saw, from behind the group, Mama stepped forward. Her face was tired, but made younger by the starlight, her long coat drifting around her feet. She smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. In a second, Barclay pulled her into a hug much softer and much warmer than that with any of the others. She smelled like sandalwood and clay - Barclay felt tears rise to his eyes. “Mama,” he said. 

She whispered into his ear, “How you doing, Barclay?” she asked, “Is the wide, wide world all you thought it was?”

“Every inch of it,” he answered. He held her a little tighter. “Thank you.”  
She laughed, and pulled out of his embrace. “Aw,” she chuckled, “I’d be a pretty desperate woman if I couldn’t let a thirty-something year old man leave the nest.” He laughed at that, finding a hand on his back from Jake, smiles cast in his direction. Then, the focus shifted. As Stern stepped out of the car, eyes turned. 

It occurred to him, now that they were under the starlight, that Stern would be almost recognizable to the rest of those at the Inn. His shades were gone, leaving nothing but his emotional hazel eyes, and in place of his very professional suit was a red and off-white Christmas sweater over a pair of jeans. Even still, it only took a moment for the dynamic of the group to harden - Aubrey looked inquisitively up at Barclay, Dani’s jaw tightened, Jake went white - even Moira leaned back a bit at the sight of the familiar enemy. Stern waved meekly, cripplingly aware of how they all felt. He looked to Barclay.

“Guys, it’s… it’s okay,” Barlcay said. He stepped away from Mama and stood next to Stern. Then, in a cautious movement, he intertwined his fingers with those on Stern’s shaking hand. 

They just stood there for a moment, hearts racing. Confusion and, in some, delight made its rounds across the group. Barclay heard Stern’s breath hitch. He squeezed his hand softly, and it calmed. 

“N-no way…” whispered Jake, “You?! A-and  _ him?!” _ _   
_

Barclay nodded. “Yeah, Jake,” he said. “I’m sorry everyone, I know this must… come as quite a surprise, but… I know in my heart he would never do anything to hurt any of you. He’s like… Duck, or Aubrey, or-or Ned. He’s one of the good ones.” He paused, looked briefly at Stern, whose cheeks were pink with embarrassment. Then, he smiled and said to him, “Joe. Tell them why you left when you did.”

“What?!” Stern asked anxiously.

“Tell them. Tell them all the real reason you left.”

“W-well…” Stern looked out at the crowd of cynics and frightened refugees. Guilt ran through him. There it was again, the feeling of being a thorn in this beautiful place. The reason he went home. The real reason. His heart was fluttering up in his throat now - he ran his thumb along the back of Barclay’s hand. “The real reason was… The real… The real reason…” He sighed. If you don’t trust them, how will they ever trust you? “I knew from the beginning it wasn’t a wolf that attacked me,” he began. “From that moment, I was certain I had exactly the lead I needed - Despite the fact that the evidence of the encounter was lost, as time went on, things only became more suspicious, and I only had more tunnels to travel down. This place, as far as I was concerned, was about to make my career. But… Without giving me any specifics, Barclay told me that… that the people who stayed here… didn’t have anywhere but this place. And I-I looked around and saw that Amnesty Lodge was… a sanctuary. To people who, for whatever reason… didn’t belong.” He looked down, gritting his teeth. “I… I couldn’t take that away from you. Not when I’ve spent so much of my life feeling that way myself.”

Stern sighed - he didn’t have the will to look them in the eyes. Instead, he looked at Barclay, who smiled softly and nodded in encouragement. “I… I know that this place is for you and not for me, but… If I was welcome in this miraculous… beautiful place even for just one night… It… It would mean the world to me.”

He swallowed - there was nothing more to be said. Slowly, heads of the people there began to turn around to Mama, who shrugged and said, “It’s not my decision.”

There was a long, long silence. The crickets sang deep in the woods, the frogs burbled, the cicadas hummed. If one listened hard enough, they could even hear the stars rumbling on through the emptiness of space in the still, cold small town air. Stern had his eyes closed, and his hand clammy and tight around Barclay’s. Barclay looked down too - after all, it wasn’t his choice either. The voice that broke the silence was Aubrey’s. “Hey, Agent Stern?”

“Y-yeah?”

She beamed. “Merry Christmas!”

He creased his eyebrows, confusion filling in for paranoia. “M… Merry Christmas?”

Dani evaluated her girlfriend carefully, then took her hand, and smiled. “Yeah, Agent Stern. Merry Christmas,” she said, her voice soft. 

Moira raised an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose it’s not the strangest thing to happen regarding a human,” she admitted, casting a look at Aubrey, “Merry Christmas.”

“Well, man, Barclay, if you’re sure,” Jake said, shaking his head, “Then, merry Christmas dude!”   


A cacophony of ‘merry Christmas’s rang out, one by one, from everyone who lived in that lodge, excluding only Mama, whose smiled said more than enough. People stepped forward in the snow, patted him on the shoulder, held his freezing hands. When the greeting was over, the herd began to move back to the Lodge, shoulders beginning to shiver, boredom beginning to emerge with the encounter. Somebody snatched up Barclay by the shoulders and someone else began interrogating him about life in DC. Just like that, the group was swept away. 

Stern stood there, silent. Tears were welling in his eyes, rolling down cold down his face. He laughed, the warm relief of welcomeness, so long awaited, filling his heart. It felt so good it almost hurt. He whispered to himself and let it float on the wind: “Merry Christmas…”

“FBI man!” Aubrey shouted back, “You coming?”   


Stern sniffed, wiped the tears off his face, and hurried to catch up. 

It wasn’t long after they got inside that Mama declared that the whole Inn ought to “leave the poor man alone and go to bed!”, and with some resistance from the less mature members of the Inn, the lobby was eventually emptied. Barclay didn’t sleep, however. After all, he had a promise to keep. 

He headed right to the kitchen. In a calming, old ritual, he tied his apron around his waist, opened the cabinet, smelled the flour. God, that was something he’d just  _ have  _ to find a way to do. How had he gone so long without cooking anything. He took out eggs, cream, nutmeg, bourbon.

Stern wandered in after him. “You’re… cooking something?”   


Barclay looked up at him, at where he leaned against the counter, and went silent. It was a long quiet, so Stern asked him, “What?”

“Oh, nothing, I just… been a long time since we talked here, like this. That time, it was… about something very different,” he admitted, and continued to fetch various ingredients from the fridge and the cabinet. Stern raised his eyebrows, and smiled. 

“Man… Almost forgot about that,” he admitted. He shook his head. “But… surely you didn’t come in here just for nostalgia’s sake. You don’t want to sleep?”   


“Sorry,” answered Barclay, “I have to keep a promise?”

“An egg-related promise?”

“Yep!” he answered. “Remember me mentioning I found you because of a sort of… prophetic alien?”

Stern nodded. 

“He’s a big eggnog guy! That’s all I had to do in exchange for any updates about you. Can’t go breaking that promise now!” 

As Barclay began cracking eggs into a bowl, Stern shook his head and laughed. “Of course he is…” he whispered, in awe. He looked down at the ground for a moment, before he looked up, and stared at Barclay. He couldn’t wait any longer. He rocked on his heels. “So, um… We’re uh… We’re… It’s just- I mean it’s just us in here.”

Barclay squinted at him for a moment, before he understood, and sighed. “Oh. That,” he said awkwardly. “You’ve already seen it, you know. In the woods, remember?”

“Yeah, but… it was dark! I was bleeding out, at the time, it was- er, I mean you were just a blur!” Stern argued, “Come on, you can’t drop the fact that you’re bigfoot- s-sorry, what do you want to be called?”   


“Just Barclay is fine,” he said meekly. 

“Barclay! I’m not gonna judge you!” he insisted, “I… I want to see you! You for real!”   


Barclay cast him a long look, and sighed. “I promised I would…” He reminded himself. With a sigh, he pushed his bowl of cracked eggs to the other side of the counter. “Oh, fine, fine! I guess I better not put it off anymore, huh?” 

Stern’s eyes were wide, his face filled with childlike excitement. He stepped away from the counter to face him, rubbing his hands together with delight. Barclay shook his head. God, how was he so alright with all this? How did he find a man like that, he thought tiredly, lovingly. Then, he took off his bracelet. 

There, in the kitchen, was an incredible creature. Barclay was over seven feet tall, covered in rich brown fur, an only vaguely humanoid face to replace the gentle bearded hippie look he once had. He smiled meekly at Stern, and held out his arms. 

Stern’s jaw had dropped in awe. He took a step forward. He was looking at him now, more intently than Barclay had ever been looked at. It was shock and it was awe, as he expected, but it was something else too. Something he recognized. It was a look he hadn’t known for some time. He knew, in that moment, based only on his eyes that he had become all that someone else needed to be happy. 

Quite the responsibility, he thought. Still. It was one he wore comfortably, like a backpack he couldn’t leave home without. To be human. To be a silf. To be  _ someone -  _ It was, more than anything, to be known, and to be loved. 

With a silent Step, Stern came forward, and rested his hand on his chest. He felt his fur - it was as soft as it had been in those countless dreams of a very strange middle schooler. Then, unable to resist, he fell into his arms. Barclay grinned, and held him back. 

“You still smell like pine…” he observed, over his shoulder. 

Barclay laughed, and suddenly he felt like crying. It occurred to him that it had been some time since someone touched him like this, the real him. He could feel it in his human form, but it wasn’t the same. For the first time in ages the barrier was gone, and there were hands, real, warms hands, and a real warm body pressed into his fur, someone breathing slowly up against him. It had been so long since he’d known the feeling of affectionate touch he could barely remember a time when he missed it. It must have been months. It must have been years. 


	15. Goodnight, The First Of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amnesty Lodge throws a Christmas party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS HOLY SHIT I DID IT I FINISHED THE FIC I FINISHED HAPPIER FSKJDKLJFDJSJDSJKLWFJIKEJDSKL
> 
> its so long guys this is SUCH a w for me. SUCH an enormous win look how long it is its like 70 pages.....
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed this slow burn guys!! i like to think the ending is sweet.... i hope you feel fulfilled by reading it!! thank you all for sticking by and leaving comment after comment...... you're what make this easier. thats all for happier! good luck and goodnight!!!

One didn’t know Christmas, thought Stern, until one saw it at Amnesty Lodge. It didn’t matter how much of a die-hard elf you were, no matter how many light up antlers you wore, how big your pine tree was, how much pride you put into your nativity. All that was kitsch, he thought as he stepped out in his pajamas into the lobby. That was an imitation, a swing and a miss.  _ This  _ was Christmas.

Snow was drifting down outside the windows as the softest sunlight of the year kissed the poinsettia in intricate glass vases on every table. Several tables were cleared out to the sides to open up a dance floor circled with golden lights and mistletoe. The smell of nutmeg rose rich through the air, leaving the taste of childhood gingerbread on one’s tongue, and already people were coming in from outside and kicking snow from their boots and their coats, beating it out of their wool caps, warming their red hands in embraces with each other. Up above the door was a wooden panel with  _ Merry Christmas  _ written in dark green ink, with dots of red like mistletoe. Moira was in the corner playing a sweetly lilting rendition of I’ll Be Home For Christmas that made Stern feel like he’d never heard it. He smiled at her, and she shot a dignified smile back. He glanced through her back at the piano keys, watching the way her fingers danced across them. Then he did a double take, noticing only then that she was an opalesque, translucent blue. 

“There’s  _ no  _ way you can out-board me looking like that, dude!”   


“Just watch me, stupid! I’m made for the water!”

In a chaotic series of crashes two people clambered through the front door, shaking snow all over the floor and racing inside past Stern. It was only when they were a foot or two away that he noticed one of them was a brown-haired boy he didn’t recognize and the other was an arctic seal from the waist up. His eyes went wide, stumbling against the hallway as they rushed past him into one of the rooms, tracking snow in and laughing all the way. 

“For goodness’ sakes...” said a werewolf, shaking the droplets of water off the pages of his copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Dani grinned a sharp-toothed grin at Aubrey, her slitted yellow eyes glowing bright enough to reflect of the table below her, as Aubrey snapped - The moment she did so the poinsettias on the table erupted in flame, and when they were put out they were a soft violet. Dani clapped as she was handed a flower, then kissed Aubrey over the table. 

Stern watched all this with a slowly mounting awe, mind racing to take it all in at once. He certainly was trusted, he thought. To his own surprise, he wasn’t afraid - He could do nothing but stare out in bewilderment, his mouth hanging open. A moment later, a voice said beside him, “Having trouble adjusting?”   


He startled, whipping around. “Barclay!” he sighed. He was one of the few monsters in his human form, dressed in a red turtleneck with a green suit jacket on top of it. He grinned at Stern.

“It’s a lot, huh? I’m surprised they’re all so chill around you already! Guess that speech of yours really made an impression on them.”

Stern shook his head in awe, eyes wide. “I… I guess…” he said, “Who… who is everyone?”

“Well… I just saw Jake run by, and his friend Keith. Jake’s the seal, Keith’s a human. Uhh… The rest are… I think pretty recognizable.” He pointed people out in the crowd. “Dani… Moira… Aubrey is… Also human, she’s just… I’ll let her tell you about it, that’s not my business. She’s not super private though, I’m sure she’d tell you!” Before Stern could react to any of that, Barclay’s eyes lit up, looking to the door. “Ooh! There’s someone I have to introduce you to!”   


Following his eyes, Stern found coming through the door a frail, strange looking man, with brown skin and hair almost as pale as the snow outside and glasses as red as cherry candy. He was taking off a massive coat, and sighing in relief at the warmth. Barclay put a hand on Stern’s back. “This is the guy that helped me find you. But you gotta not get starstruck, okay? He’s a little… er, weird, socially. Not a people person.”

“Why-why would I be starstruck, is he- I mean, do I know him?”

Barclay laughed softly. “Oh, you know him.”

“Is he the Franklinville Moleman?”   


Confused, Barclay creased his eyebrows. “Uh, think bigger.”

Surprise took over Stern’s face. “The L.A. Bat Boy?”   


“Think…  _ Pleasantville.” _

There was a pause in the air, the stranger shaking snow out of his hair, briefly revealing the black flecks that ran through it, taking out a cloth and cleaning his glasses while they were still on his face. Stern’s jaw dropped as he stared at him, before he turned back to Barclay. “You’re not serious.”

“Yeah. But! Don’t call him that, don’t ask to see his wings, it’ll… wig him out. He’s, um, kinda psychic so if he finishes your sentences try not to get creeped out, it’s just… how he is. Come on!” Barclay took him by the shoulders and walked him to the door. Stern struggled to adjust his pajamas - He hadn’t expected the party would start so soon. 

“Indrid! Hey!” Barclay greeted him.

The stranger flashed a friendly, if a little unsettling smile. “Barclay! I trust you upheld my side of the bargain?”   


“Is that the only reason you came out?” he asked.

“Well, it’s not as though I’d come for the conversation. You know me!” he said with a smile. He refocused on Stern. “Ah! Agent Joseph Stern! Very nice to finally be introduced. It was good of you to come out on such short notice, too.”

“Um…” Stern said helplessly, “Uh, it’s… N-nice to meet you… too?” He cleared his throat, “Sorry, uh, yes. Um, thank you. Barclay tells me he went to you for help in-”

“Bringing you together, yes,” Indrid finished, “Any favor for the… ultimate reward. Which is where, Barclay?”

“One second,” he said. He turned around, watched closely by Indrid as he dipped into the kitchen. He came back with a tall glass of eggnog, with plumes of steam rising off the top. “I even microwaved it for you so it’s hot and… disgusting, just how you like it.”

Indrid took it with a low laugh of childlike giddiness, his eyebrows shooting up. He took a sip, and his shoulders sank down, a grin spreading over his face. “Oh, a masterpiece,” he sighed, “And with that, gentlemen, I’m going to go find a corner where no one will bother me. Farewell!” And he shuffled off to do just as he said he would.

Stern had only one word for the encounter: “Huh.”

“Yeah. Weird guy.” 

“Hey! You’re Agent Stern!” 

Stern looked up at the sound of a familiar voice to see one of the tables where Duck and Ned were both set up drinking from glasses of their own. Duck was casting him a confused look, and waving him over. Casting a look at Barclay, Stern approached. 

“Agent Stern, I’m surprised to see you,” said Duck, creasing his eyebrows, “You’re not here to uh… Bust us, are you?”

Aubrey, then, strolled over, placing her hands down on the table. “It’s okay guys, he’s cool now, he’s Barclay’s boyfriend.”

Duck was distracted for a moment from Stern, rising from his feet to pat Aubrey on the shoulder and give her a hug. Ned greeted her in turn. Barclay nodded in approval to Stern, and the both of them sat down.

“Well!” announced Ned, “This is- this is quite the news, Barclay! You know if- If you think about it, I’m kind of the one who introduced you to the love of your life! And you thought it was a bad thing!” He sighed wistfully, “Ah, how the tides of fate-”

Impatiently, Barclay snapped, “You filmed me without my consent and pinned a government agent on me, Ned,” and Stern snorted to himself. 

“Yes- well- It all worked out in the end, didn’t it! Apparently he was a very lovable government agent, if he’s back for the Christmas party! Which, might I add, friend Stern, it’s a delight to see you again under these… improved circumstances.”   


He smiled. “Likewise, Mr. Chicane,” he said, “It’ll be good to see your work up close with this new lens. Maybe you could get a second opinion as to its validity from me before releasing it to the public.”

Ned cringed. “That… won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Hold on,” said Duck, “So is Stern like, in on all of it? Like, all of it?”

“He knows about Silvane but not individual people cause I figured, that’s not his business, you know?” said Barclay, and Stern nodded. 

“Yeah, makes sense,” Duck said.

Aubrey beamed, sliding into a chair at the table. “Hey, Agent Stern, you wanna meet Duck’s terrible sword?”   


Stern creased his eyebrows. “Do I- Do I want to  _ meet  _ it?”

“Aubrey, hey, no, let’s not, we’re… all having a good time. Besides, I’m gonna need a lot more of Barclay’s special spiked eggnog before I’m in the mood to put up with his antics.” Catching the glint of curiosity in Stern’s eye, he nodded at him and went on, “But… consider it an IOU. Ask me later.”

Stern shrugged, shaking his head. A talking sword, sure. The world was so exciting nowadays, he thought with glee, why not? Through a grin, he said, “I’d love to!”   
  


Later that night, the Lodge calmed and gathered for a feast. The moon was glistening over the snow like it did in children’s books, and the warm table was decked out with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, pies, and surrounded by eager monsters of all types waiting to dig into it. At the head of the table (which was, in fact, many tables pushed together with a tablecloth on top) was mama. She looked almost regal from this view, her braids down to her waist, her long duster over a warm brown sweater. She grinned, and lifted a small glass full of whiskey, which caught the moonlight and sparkled like sequins as it was lifted. 

“Alright, y’all, let’s get a toast going,” she said warmly, “Jake, quit picking at the turkey! Alright now… Stern!” 

All the heads at the table turned to face the young man, whose eyebrows shot up at the sound of his name. Mama, grinning almost sadistically, went on, “You’re our guest! Why don’t you do the honors?”   


There were general sounds of agreement from the table, and Stern looked anxiously around. He cleared his throat, and picked up his heavy glass of eggnog, still untouched. Once it was in the air, he went quiet. He thought of what he really wanted to thank, what had really done him favors this year. Not love, not hope, not God. He looked to Barclay. He stared at him with wonder, at how the moonlight glistening off the snow hit his rugged face, how his smile made little creases around his eyes and made him shift in his seat like an eager child. At how he found him. At how, this year, for the  _ first  _ year, someone out there wanted him to  _ win.  _

With a newfound confidence, he raised his glass and said, “To fate!”   


Barclay’s eyes went wide. Reflexively, he finished, “And the universe…” 

They caught each other’s eyes, and for a moment, they seemed to transmit the same thought to each other. This was the end. This was the beginning. They’d done it. They could do anything.

Their electric silence was interrupted by mama, who had a warmer, softer grin than she almost ever wore pasted across her face. “Alright, folks, you heard them.” She stood, and raised her glass, “To fate, and the universe!”   


The entire lodge showed their glasses to the moonlight.  _ “To fate and the universe!” _   


That night, Barclay and Stern came home to the same room. Stern, shaken from the party, got back first and laid down on the bed, one leg crossed over the other. When Barclay got in, he flicked the lights on, and looked over at him. They stared for a moment, and said nothing.

Barclay pulled his phone out of his phone, and typed something in for a moment. Then it began to play music - It was Nat King Cole’s unforgettable. He set it on the table. Stern’s heart melted from the bed. With a wordless nod and gesture Barclay invited him, and Stern laughed at the idea. Then, he stood. As the music streamed out, he tucked himself in between Barclay’s arms, a tough hand on his shoulder, a broad chest against his. They rocked there back and forth for the whole song, breathing in each other. Stern ran fingers through his hair, and Barclay pressed his face into his neck. Then, after a moment, the song was over. It was alright though, they thought. There’d be more dances to come.

Wordlessly, they flicked off the lights and got into bed, feeling like they’d slept in this bed with this person beside them all their lives. The covers fell easy on their bodies, their heads rested easy on the other’s shoulder. 

Stern stared up at the ceiling, wearing an idle smile he hadn’t known for quite some time - The distinct happiness of the night just after Christmas. Through a sigh, he said, “Goodnight, Barclay.”

In a whisper, Barclay responded, “Goodnight, Joe.”   



End file.
